


Sherlock Skellington

by VincentMeoblinn



Series: ROTG/Sherlock crossover [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)
Genre: Anal, Anthropomorphic, Crossover, Fingering, Fisting, M/M, Massage, Masturbation, Oil/Massage Kink, Oral, Plushy Sex? Sort of?, Scent Kink, Stuffing and Unstuffing (it's not what you think) Kink, Weird Shit, fabric kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:10:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1271056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn





	1. Chapter 1

Mycroft Skellington, whose red hair showed his lineage as the great-great-grandson of Jack and Sally Skellington, frowned and tapped his umbrella on the floor of the tower he called home. John Leatherman had just saved the king’s life from a rather bad assassination attempt and asked for the location of the other magical kingdoms as his reward. He was hoping to escape the horror- the _true­_ horror as opposed to the _fun_ horror- that Halloween Town had become since the monarchy had gone into exile.

“You see … Leatherman, was it?” Mycroft Skellington sighed.

“Yes,” John nodded, leaning forward hopefully.

“You see Leatherman, I’m more of a figurehead these days. Creepy Crawler runs Halloween Town- mostly into the ground, as you well know. However… if you could get my younger brother Sherlock to work with me perhaps we _could_ start a search for the other kingdoms that my forebears hid so long ago. Sadly, my brother prefers his experiments and solitude to politics and diplomats, so I’m afraid it’s quite hopeless. Would you prefer to make another request?”

John sighed in frustration, but he’d made up his mind after they’d burnt his creator, Dr. Finkelstein, at the stake two weeks ago; Halloween Town was doomed and this soldier was shipping out. He would sneak off to the fabled Christmas Town, disguise himself as a resident, and live a _peaceful_ life. He could hardly support his king and country when it was so damned corrupt.

“Where can I find your brother?” John asked.

Mycroft smirked at him and nodded approvingly, “You’ll find him at the Grand Mausoleum. Mummy’s servant- who was mummified with her- takes care of him. My brother is a genius but… well, you’ll see for yourself. Consider this a test of your fortitude.”

John nodded his head and stood up with a small bow, “Your Grace.”

Mycroft waved him off with a sigh and John headed out to the hall where he grabbed his bag off the floor and hurried out the door. Being made of leather and being homeless was a real pain in the hide. John needed a constant supply of leather treatments and a _very_ dry shelter, and if he was travelling he wasn’t going to have both. He stopped by the edge of the city and pulled out his saxophone (it once belonged to James of the Zombie Band himself) and started playing some light jazz. A few hours later he had enough coins to buy another bottle of lotion for his skin.

Halloween town had expanded over the years and was now a sprawling city complete with five districts- London, Scotland, Ireland, America, and India. The Grand Mausoleum was in the original area of Halloween Town- now named London since the rest of the kingdom had taken on the original town’s name. Apparently Sherlock Skellington lived in a tower built off the side of the Mausoleum where he conducted his experiments. John had to go from Scotland to London. He was just glad he’d found several undamaged trash bags to make into ponchos as he went on the three-day journey.

XXXXXXXXXX

John pulled the bell on the tower labeled Baker’s Tower and listened to the lyrical scream that it produced.

 _Fancy_ , John thought with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, _Rich bastards, living it up while the rest of us go without leather treatments, thread, and proper needles. I swear if any more stuffing falls out I’ll be so thin I’ll look like a Skellington myself… not that Mycroft was very… tall, dark, and gorgeous!_

John gaped at the man who stood before him. He had the Skellington family bony features, but silk patchwork skin covered those razor sharp cheekbones. His eyes looked like two giant, shiny, light green marbles and his lips were full and shapely as if perfectly sculpted. His tall, whipcord thin body was covered in a fine suit which molded to him and practically _screamed_ bespoke. Around his neck was the family crest of a black cat head glaring out at the world- it fit the sharp gaze of its owner perfectly. If John had to bet on who had been made in a lab, this perfect man with his curly hair of black silken threads would have been his first bet. He looked straight out of a Poe porn.

_He must spend hours every morning running a knife over those threads to make them curl like that…_

“Actually, they’re natural.”

“Huh?” John stated, still gaping at the man.

“I said, ‘they’re natural’. My hair. The curls? They’re natural. Are you _slow_ or something? I’ve never known Dr. Finkelstein to make an _inferior_ creation.”

“How… how did you know…?”

“Your eyes don’t seem vacant. You’re clearly walking under your own power. Since you’re alone I think it’s safe to assume you traveled here without supervision.”

“Now hang on!” John snapped in offense.

“Since the taxis haven’t been running for _years_ now you must have walked, which requires the use of a map, so you are at least _somewhat_ literate.”

“I’ll have you know that I…!” John shouted.

“Have medical and combat training- specifically in the recently defeated rebel forces. I’m aware of that,” Sherlock snorted with a smug grin, “You used a surgical stitch on the tear in your cheek and there’s clearly a gun- Sig Sauer by the shape of the bulge- under your trash bag. The wear and tear on the inseam of your hand shows how often it is used and with what accuracy- roughly 97.4% on non-combative situations. I was pulling your leg.”

John blinked, “That. Was. Brilliant,” He stated before grinning widely, “But don’t pull it too hard. Being patchwork yourself you know that just means it will fall right off.”

Sherlock gave him an odd look and then shook his head as though to clear it: “Your construction can be improved by using proper thread coated with…”

“I know. I haven’t the coin for it.”

“I have some inside. If you will be my assistant for a while- perhaps allow me to run a few experiments on you- I’ll let you have it as payment.”

“Sure,” John replied, eager for an in.

“Excellent, come in and don’t be annoying.”

John stepped inside and looked around himself. This _wasn’t_ how he’d expected royalty- even figurehead royalty- to live. The place was a _dump_. In fact, the sewing room was so covered in rotting body parts and flasks of chemicals that John wasn’t sure the waxed thread would be _safe_ for him to use.

“Of course it will be safe to use,” Sherlock snorted, “I’m a genius. I’m not going to contaminate something and then give it to you- well, not _accidentally_.”

That gave John pause, but he shook his head and focused on the task at hand, “You’re telepathic?”

“No. I _pay attention_. I notice things no one else notices.”

“Like my calluses.”

“And the looks on your face. You read easier than a primary school book.”

“Okay so… experiments? It won’t be painful will it?”

“I won’t feel a thing,” Sherlock replied with a smirk.

“I _really_ don’t like your sense of humor,” John decided.

Sherlock crowded into John’s personal space and he found himself backed into a ratty chair, sitting down abruptly, and staring up at the man with a hard swallow of anticipation.

“Your hair is made of what? Waxed thread?”

“Yeah.”

“All of it?”

“Yes,” John replied with practiced calm, but felt himself blush.

“The same sort below as above?”

John swallowed convulsively and gave his head a subtle shake.

“Well?” Sherlock asked irritably.

“It’s made of a darker shade and a thicker thread count. It curls like…” John was going to say ‘like your hair’ but lost his nerve. Comparing his pubic hair with Lord Sherlock Skellington’s curly mop was a bit bolder than he was willing to be.

“Hmm, fascinating. The last creation of Dr. Finkelstein. You’re much more realistic looking than my great-great-grandmum was,” Sherlock proved it by pulling out a dusty album and showing John a picture of the Patchwork Lady Herself.

“Ohhhh,” John breathed.

There were no pictures of Sally Skellington nee Finkelstein in the Doctors former laboratory so he had never realized how beautiful she was. They had split off poorly and though he had expressed his happiness for their union to Jack the Pumpkin King decades ago he had never truly forgiven Sally for choosing him over her creator. John didn’t understand her decision. It was his friends and fellow rebel soldiers that had stopped him from murdering the executioner and guards or at least throwing himself onto the fire with his beloved ‘father’; he had turned his back on them and depended on himself from then on, leaving the rebel army his Dr. Finkelstein had created and heading out to find peace his own way.

“It’s a pity, really,” Sherlock continued, “With how brilliant he was he might have lived forever had Creepy Crawler not had him executed.”

John sighed sadly. He was still heartbroken over his loss and it shown in every ever-multiplying crease on his leather face.

“Well now, let’s see what I can whip up. I’m sure there’s something you can assist me with… ah, yes! I need to go into the woods and collect more deadly nightshade. That’s a suitable task… Well, for once the weather has improved. I’m no more waterproof than you are. Make yourself comfortable Doctor…?”

“Leatherman. John Leatherman. You can just call me John.”

“Very well, John, make yourself at home. I rarely require repair- being born rather than created- so help yourself to the sewing room or take a kip on the spare bed upstairs.”

John was exhausted so he turned his heels upstairs first and found a lovely little creaky bed, complete with it’s own monster beneath it, threadbare sheets, and a moth-eaten quilt. It was gorgeous. John bid the monster beneath goodnight, promised himself fresh stuffing and a good re-stitch in the morning, and curled up to sleep. It wasn’t long before the screeching of a violin woke him and he stumbled downstairs to see who was making such an utterly _beautiful_ caterwaul. It was Sherlock, standing in front of a window in a dressing gown and swaying like a reed in the wind. He looked like an epitaph in motion and John could barely breathe for the sight of him. The disjointed sawing ended and John raised his hands to clap, but the man turned sharply and his eyes caught John and froze him like a troll caught by the sun.

“I play the violin.”

“I noticed,” John replied, his voice embarrassingly breathy.

“Sometimes I don’t talk for days, that won’t bother you, will it?”

“Not at all,” John replied sincerely, _not if I can look at you,_ “With that sharp tongue of yours I might prefer it.”

Sherlock smirked but made no reply, instead he gestured towards the sewing room.

“Strip.”

“Sir?” John asked, falling back on military discipline when alarmed. 

“Strip. Your stuffing is still falling out- all over the place I might add. You’ll waste away like that and I won’t stand for it. You’ll be useless to me as a pile of scrap leather. Strip and I’ll stitch you back up myself.”

“I really prefer to stitch mys-“

John found himself turned when bony fingers caught him and jerked him to one side. Silken-covered fingers stripped him of his clothes with the ease a child rips open a mythical Christmas present. John found himself naked and trembling within a few moments. Sherlock pulled out a long, thick needle, tossed a roll of thread into the air, held out the needle, and let the thread simply drop into the eye. John caught himself ooo’ing and ahh’ing as the man caught the dropping spool, clipped the thread with his sharp teeth, and made a knot with a flick of his wrist that made John’s cock twitch appreciatively.

“The good doctor was indeed very good to you. You’re far more well endowed than any of the others of his creations I’ve seen,” Sherlock stated, but his gaze was cool rather than heated as John wished it would be, “What sort of stuffing do you prefer? I see you’re using natural cotton wisps, but I assume that was for lack of ‘coin’ as well?”

“Ah, yeah, I prefer synthetic. That’s what Dr. Finkelstein always put inside me.”

“Then we’ll re-stuff you with _proper_ insides.”

John swallowed as Sherlock turned him around and bent him over the sewing bench. John planted his hands and tried not to whimper.

“If it’s all the same to you,” Sherlock continued, “I’ll pull the stuffing out of the _proper_ hole rather than one of your tears. The leather will be damaged less.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you prefer,” John replied coolly, proud of himself for not moaning as he wished to.

Sherlock’s fingers were quickly slicked up with some all-purpose fabric lotion- safe for both their materials, John realized- and slid one inside of him.

“Hmm, you haven’t been keeping this part moist. You’ll crack if I’m not careful.”

John swallowed at the pain of intrusion, but made no reply. Sherlock was being gentle- almost sweetly so- which left John with nothing to do but wait out the very slow press of more digits.

_Gods, those fingers are so looong! There must be miles of them inside me and…_

“Oh!” John gasped, his hips bucking. Sherlock had found his button. The button sewn inside of John’s body that thrummed with pleasure whenever touched. It was a sex aid, put in place because Dr. Finkelstein wanted his creatures to know all the joys of living, and Sherlock’s fingers had just caressed it _quite_ firmly.

“Apologies,” Sherlock stated, “I didn’t realize you were _that_ anatomically correct.”

Sherlock shifted his fingers away and started to pulling stuffing out of John. If put in properly it should simply slide out in one long pull- leaving John a limp and unconscious pile of leather scrap until fresh stuffing were added into at least his head cavity. Sadly, he hadn’t been stuffing himself properly, not while homeless anyway, so Sherlock had to stretch him wide enough to push his entire hand inside. John groaned at the stretch, far wider than anything he’d ever experienced with either his own experimentation or the Doctor’s very medical-feeling corrections to his person. Even the lover’s he’d had- mostly women anyway- hadn’t been so deep inside of him.

“My, my, but you _are_ quality leather. Look at you stretch around my arm, I’m in up to my elbow. I know I’m thin, but this should be causing you a great deal of pain. Are you alright?”

“I’m… fine…” John panted.

The truth was he was aching with arousal. All the stuffing inside of him felt as if it had shifted into his cock and it was hanging stiff and straight between his thighs, the softened thinner leather head pulsing hotly. John glanced down to watch his suede bollocks tighten in anticipation of release within their nest of dark yellow curls.

“Ahh, I think I should warn you that if you k-keep that up I’ll…” John gasped.

“I am a scientist,” Sherlock stated with an annoyed sigh, “I am fully aware of your biochemistry and anatomy. If you ejaculate I will be neither offended nor alarmed. In fact it will likely make this easier as you’re wound rather tight at the moment. I swear you’ve managed to _braid_ your innards you’re so tense.”

“Thank fuck for that!” John exclaimed, and then came explosively as Sherlock’s elbow pressed against his button again. A light spray of sawdust exploded from his cock, coating the table beneath him and releasing its heady musk into the air. Sherlock immediately tugged the stuffing out from the inside of his cock now that it was no longer clenched together so tightly and John sighed as the weeks of tension simply melted away.

“Cedar? How very aromatic,” Sherlock stated, “Combined with your natural leather scent- once we remove this moldy stuffing and buff you up nicely- your body odor should be more than pleasant. You might be a pleasure to have around after all.”

“Thanks,” John replied, and then slipped into unconsciousness as Sherlock tugged the last of the stuffing out of his head cavity and rendered him inanimate.

John woke up with a pleased sigh. He felt pleasantly full, dry inside, _properly_ moistened outside, and there was a dull ache in his backside anchoring him. All was right with the world. Then he heard a curious hum that _didn’t_ sound like Dr. Finkelstein.

“Neat,” The voice decided, “It’s like you’re some sort of survival machine. Even if your leather were to crack and break you’ve been reinforced inside with…”

Sherlock’s description of John’s insides was cut off when the blonde opened his eyes and screamed at the sight of himself stretched out on the sewing bench- four limbs pinned with large sewing needles in each wrist like a bug mounted on a wall- with his body cut open cadaver style.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” John howled, “WAIT TILL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!”

“That’s quite enough,” Sherlock scowled, “You’re perfectly okay and…”

_“THIS IS NOT OKAY!!”_

“I’ve re-stuffed you, haven’t I? I could have kept your head empty- a fat lot of good that stuffing does your IQ anyway- but I brought you round. Now… Calm. Down.”

John took a deep, steadying breath and tried to rationalize what he’d just woken up to.

“I thought you _didn’t_ want to damage me further?”

“I haven’t. I opened you along rotted seems and pinned you between stitches- _for your own protection_ you mad thing. You’ll be sewn up again soon enough. I’ve just finished oiling you inside and out. You’ll look ten years younger when I’m done. Would you like your hair longer? That military cut is rather done for you, isn’t it? Seeing as how you’ve turned on your comrades and fled for safety?”

John almost winced, but then he absorbed all the man had said, “You deduced that, too? You really are rather brilliant.”

“Hmm,” Sherlock blinked at him owlishly through a pair of large magnifying specs he was using to make sure every stitch was perfect, “That’s not what people usually say.”

“What do they usually say?”

“Piss off.”

“Well… you are. Brilliant.”

Sherlock didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so he bent his head back to sewing and John stared at the ceiling and ignored the fact that there was also a distinctly _different_ scent of saw dust in the air- pine.

A/N – Oh my gods. I think I just invented a new fetish. Is plushy/scent/fabric/unstuffing/stuffing sex a fetish already? Prolly. (Heads for google.)

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

John had thought things would be awkward, but they really weren’t. He learned almost immediately why Mycroft had hinted that his brother was a problem for him- the man had literally no social skills. He was intrusive, brisk, cold, verbally aggressive, and completely cerebral; which was why John was so shocked to find the man making room in his home and life for John.

Before the former soldier knew what was happening he found himself in a steady routine that he had no idea when he’d fallen into. Morning wank, treat his leather skin, a bit of breakfast (pine sawdust and tea for Sherlock and cedar sawdust and stuffing as needed for John), and then John would head out to run errands for Sherlock.

It took a few weeks for John to realize that he was in _love_ with the odd man who chased experiment after experiment- in fact it wasn’t until he _became_ an experiment again that he realized it. John had been spooning some saw dust into his mouth to replenish his insides, enjoying the cedar taste he favored while reading the paper when the most intense feeling overtook him. Before he knew it he was under the sewing table screaming for Sherlock to save him from the beast in the sitting room!

It took Sherlock quite some time to calm him down, and while he did he questioned him carefully. It wasn’t until whatever drug Sherlock had slipped him wore off that he started realizing he was writing all of John’s responses down and chuckling gleefully.

“You…you… you did that to me. You drugged me. Made me hallucinate a giant glowing dog in the den!”

“Yes, it was one of the experiments I mentioned I might utilize you for. Do keep up. Now, did you _smell_ anything? Or were the responses confined to sight and sound?”

John clamped his mouth shut, stood up, and stormed up to his room in disgust. He was near tears and he _never_ cried- and that was when it hit him. He loved that man. He loved that inhuman man downstairs despite his lack of empathy with the world and John had never _been_ in love before so he had no idea how to _end_ such unhealthy emotions except to leave.

John marched back downstairs.

“Sherlock?”

“Hm? Are you ready to continue?” The man asked, giving him a disgusted look.

“No. I need your help with something this time.”

“I see,” Sherlock put down his violin and slipped into his chair, steepling his fingers, “Go on then.”

“I want to leave Halloween Town. Do you know where the portals to the other worlds are?”

“Yes.”

John blinked. He hadn’t actually thought the man _would_. He’d meant it to be a lead into his request that the man work with his brother to locate them. Sherlock smirked.

“My brother sent you to reunite us? I was aware of your intentions a week ago when I mentioned my brother and you squirmed so uncomfortably. You really do read like a _book_ John. He has no idea I’ve been skipping off to the other worlds to collect specimens for years. His old spy network has fallen along with our old power.”

“Will you tell me?”

“Where they are? Yes.”

“You will?”

“Yes. I have no reason to keep such information from you.”

“Very well. Where’s the nearest one?”

“Two miles south of here in a graveyard. It leads to Easter Village.”

“Right then, you have a map or more detailed directions?”

Sherlock stood to fetch them, but hesitated when handing the paper to John.

“I’ll give it back to you,” John insisted, “I’ll copy it down.”

“I just…” Sherlock looked confused a moment, “What will you do there?”

“Start a new life,” John replied with a shrug, “Try to fit in.”

“In _Easter Village_? Everything is pink and yellow!”

“Guess I’ll have to buy some leather dye.”

Sherlock looked thoroughly disgusted and shoved the paper at John hard enough to make him stumble back.

“Take it and leave! At once!”

John turned sharply and headed back upstairs to pack his tiny duffle bag.

 


	3. Chapter 3

He stuffed what little he owned back into his duffle, swallowing down the pain in his chest at the thought of leaving the first person he’d ever connected to since Dr. Finkelstein had died. He was _worried_ about the mad genius downstairs; he barely cared for himself, and the old mummy housekeeper who puttered around the place couldn’t keep up with his untidy habits.

Finally John took a deep breath, slung his pack over his shoulder, and headed downstairs to say goodbye. Sherlock was sawing at his violin, the sound melodious and sad. It spoke volumes of his mood that the notes were harmonious and John flinched at the sound.

“So… I’m going. Goodbye.”

Sherlock’s music paused but then resumed without him turning around. John sighed and placed his dog tags on the armrest of the chair he’d just begun to think of as _his_ chair and left quietly. It was a two hour walk to the graveyard, but it took him an entire hour longer to find the proper crypt. Once located, however, it wasn’t even difficult to open. The handles didn’t even _creak_. John stepped through, toppled dizzily for a moment, and then landed in something soft.

It took him a moment to stop feeling nauseous at the obscene amount of pastel colors all around him- and there were more than just pink and yellow. The grass was pastel green. The sky was pastel blue. The flowers were pastel pink, yellow, and purple. It was a gigantic field all around him with little houses shaped like decorated eggs. All the occupants around him, who stared at him in horror and backed away as he stood in the midst of their field, were shaped like little puffy chicks and rabbits. They seemed to be coated in something or other… it might have been actual _sugar._

“Ahhh, hello,” John called out; heading towards the tiny village with it’s widely dispersed houses. It seemed each had a field full off carrots beside it that the puffy residents had been harvesting when he’d arrived, “I mean you no harm. You see, I’m new in town and…”

“Go away!” A voice squeaked.

John glanced down to see a tiny puffy chick.

“I’ve only just arrived,” John replied, surprised at their bad manners, “Look, I know I’m not the right color and all but…”

“GO AWAY!!”

“That’s very rude,” John frowned down at the chick, which came up to his thigh in height.

“GO AWAY BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!!”

John’s eyes widened in alarm, but then he heard the sound of pattering feet everywhere and the tiny puffy residents all fled into their funny round homes. John looked around himself in alarm, but all he saw was a very fluffy white rabbit hopping out of the tall grass in the field and heading towards the town.

“Hullo?” John called.

The rabbit stopped, frowned at him, and adjusted it’s sash, “You shouldn’t be here. You should go.”

“Before it’s too late?” John asked with a frustrated sigh.

“Exactly.”

“What exactly will it be too late for?” John asked.

“It’s almost… _tea time_ ,” The rabbit said, shivering in fear, “You’re from another world. My great-great-great-great-great granddad went there. You should go back. It’s safer there.”

“Safer with Creepy Crawler?” John snapped irritably, “He’s destroying Halloween Town!”

“Safer than here, where Cuddly Wuddly is destroying Easter Village.”

“Cuddly Wuddly,” John replied, unable to keep himself from grinning, “Really?”

“What?”

“Well… it’s just so… cute.”

“You’re from Halloween Town, you said?”

“Yeah?”

“Aren’t scary things enjoyable there?”

“Well, yeah, we like a good scare. Why?”

“Then why does someone named Creepy Crawler bother you?”

John thought on that, “Well, it’s not his name, it’s what he’s _doing_.”

“Yeah? Well Cuddly Wuddly is destroying Easter Village! Just look at us! We used to be several fields long and now we’re _tiny_.”

John glanced around and nodded his understanding. Eventually the field ended and it almost looked like desert out beyond their grass and cuteness.

“So how is Cuddly Wuddly…”

John’s words were cut short when the ground opened up behind him and the rabbit shoved him over. John caught a glimpse of Halloween Town right before Creepy Crawler stepped into view and the rock he’d crawled out from under- literally- fell back into place on the ground. He was dressed in a pastel purple suit with pale pink make-up disguising his face to make him look like a resident. His black hair was covered in yellow sparkles similar to the ones adorning the puffy residents. It would have been hilarious had the mad gleam not still been in his eyes.

“Well, well, well, it’s tea time,” Creepy Crawler smirked, and John realized with a lurch that _this_ was Cuddly Wuddly!

“We haven’t met our quota,” The rabbit twittered, nose wiggling in fear as he cowered before the suited form.

“Not met your quota? Well, you know what that means. Some of your residents will just have to take their place.”

“If you keep eating us we’ll never have enough to make our quota! And every time you take more of us out of here the fields shrink! You’re draining our world of life!”

“If you worked harder then I wouldn’t _have_ to take so many of you away,” Crawler smirked, “Now then, be a good Easter Bunny and fetch me my chocolates and enough peeps to make up the difference.”

The Easter Bunny hopped away, sobbing bitterly, and Crawler followed after with a wicked grin on his face. The Easter Bunny- the proper leader of this world- led Crawler to the fields where all the carrots were pulled up by their leaves to reveal candies instead of the vegetables growing on the ends. They were all stuffed into a gigantic basket, and several sobbing peeps were chosen at random by Crawler to join the sweets. John watched in horror as they were all led away to yet another exit and Crawler disappeared with a swirl of white powder blowing in.

_Christmas Town?_

John stood up, shaking with anger at the man who had taken so much from him and was now destroying _two_ worlds… possibly more.

“Where are you going?!” The Easter Bunny called out, “You can’t go there! That leads to another world! We aren’t supposed to follow!!”

John shoved aside interfering peeps and yanked the large holly bush open to drop down into the snow below. He hit it with a resounding thud and stood quickly lest it melt and make him too wet. He was well coated, however, so he didn’t fear a bit of water so long as he didn’t saturate or crack.

John followed the track so of what appeared to be a sleigh and soon found a small hut with a very large factory beside it. The air was filled with smoke from the factory and the ground was dark with soot-covered snow. The sound of a whip cracking rent the air and little high-pitched voices cried out in pain. John looked in the window to see Crawler- now dressed in a green elf outfit with a hat cocked on his dark haired head- laughing at the frightened elves that scurried about making toys for him. The toys they made, however, were the sort that would be popular in _Halloween_ Town, not Christmas Town, or at least that was what his history books had said. The people of Christmas Town loved bright and cheerful toys that made happy noises and sang twinkly songs. These were dark and foreboding, full of blood and rot; the sort of thing Halloween town lived for. The chocolate candies were being handed out as a sort of food for the elves, apparently, and the peeps were being put to work. As John watched the elves seemed to age before his eyes and one fell dead.

“His magic drained away,” Another elf sighed sadly, just below the window, “Without Santa Claus we’re all doomed.”

John had heard and seen enough. He followed Crawler at a distance and saw him slip away into yet another passage, this one flashing pink and letting out a smell of roses. John turned and made his way back through the two devastated worlds and into his own. He had to reach Sherlock and tell him what was going on. He’d get that lazy Skellington out the door and onto the track of saving all their worlds if it was the last thing he’d do!

 


	4. Chapter 4

John rushed in the door of 221B, thankful he’d forgotten to return his key, and found Sherlock sulking on the couch. He headed over to him with a head full of purpose only to find the man’s lips firmly attached to his own. John froze. Sherlock pressed him backwards and John found himself pinned to the recently slammed door where he moaned before tangling his hands in those unbelievable silk curls.

“John,” Sherlock breathed when he came up for air, and then began tugging at his clothes with a wild look in his eyes.

John wasn’t about to argue with that sort of passion and quickly helped Sherlock shed his clothing before tackling the tall man’s own garments. They came off quickly between their two expert hands and John dropped to his knees to hungrily mouth at the man’s firm erection, running his tongue along the seam at the bottom just to feel it twitch on his tongue.

John’s hot mouth around Sherlock’s cock was overwhelming. He swore he could feel every single tiny ridge along the man’s suede tongue as it lapped at him as though he were a treat. He was soon trembling with pleasure and tugged at that adorable mop of blonde hair to get relief.

“ _Gods!_ ” Sherlock gasped, tugging at his hair until John popped off, “I won’t last.”

“Sorta the point,” John grinned and dove back in for more.

Above John, Sherlock slammed his hand against the closed door and moaned, bracing himself as he helplessly thrust into John’s mouth. The man opened his throat eagerly and stroked himself while Sherlock fucked his mouth at a frantic pace. When John’s throat felt suitably abused he pulled away and captured the man’s stuttering hips so that he could focus on the head of his cock until Sherlock was gasping in pleasure. He wanted to taste him so desperately it made him _ache._ The feel of that silk sheath sliding along his tongue was pure pleasure. He’d never wanted someone more than he did this man.

Sherlock’s head was spinning. He’d felt so _empty_ when John had left, and then he’d walked into the room with his eyes blazing and Sherlock had simply _wanted_ and _needed_ and now he was buried in the man’s throat. His hips stuttered shamefully and he was shouting something wildly as pleasure rushed through him. The steady build of his impending orgasm was almost too much; he could feel his head spinning as his hard cock throbbed. Since he was a Skellington _,_ Sherlock had far less stuffing than John did, and none internally to fill his member when aroused. Instead his cock inflated via a large bone sliding into place; as such it was _relentlessly_ hard, and he feared for the man’s throat, but John moaned and sucked in air as he ruthlessly sucked Sherlock off.

Sherlock was swearing at the top of his lungs, a filthy sound from such a refined person, so John reached around to stroke that soft, full arse and tease the entrance he found nestled between his perfect globes. Sherlock’s hips stilled and he gasped as though alarmed. John had a moment of panic in which he thought he’d gone too far and froze, is mouth still wrapped around Sherlock’s dick and applying suction, then he flicked his tongue experimentally and his mouth was filled with the taste of pine as Sherlock came with an amazed sound as though he hadn’t expected it. John moaned and swallowed the tangy substance down, popping off and licking his lips appreciatively.

Sherlock had been so focused on the feel of John’s mouth that he’d completely forgotten he had anything besides that, so the feel of a hand stroking his arse and sending tingles of pleasure arching up his spine was overwhelming. When one of those fingers slipped between his cheeks and stroked him _there_ Sherlock felt his orgasm coil in his belly like a snake ready to strike. He gasped, his mind going blissfully blank for the first time in his life as he teetered on the edge of orgasm. Then John flicked his tongue across the most sensitive part of his cock at the same time as he stroked the tender pucker beneath his fingers and Sherlock came so hard he was left unable to do anything accept make embarrassing noises. He shook and trembled through his pounding release, panting as he felt John devour every single speck, and swayed in place as he popped off his slowly retreating cock with a lewd smacking of his lips.

“I’ll taste like you, you know,” John whispered, and Sherlock shivered at the filthy thought, “Not this time, but the next time I come it will taste like pine because of _you_.”

Sherlock whimpered at the thought and John stood and captured those pouty lips again, fucking Sherlock’s mouth with his tongue until he forced another whimper from him and allowed John to lead him backwards. They toppled onto the couch with John happily situated between those long legs. He reached down and wrapped them around his waist, glad when Sherlock cottoned on and hooked his heels together. John wanted to fuck him senseless but he knew that was a fool thing to do in the state he was in. He wouldn’t survive the first few inches into that tight body before exploding everywhere. He did, however, tease the entrance with the tip of his cock until Sherlock keened and tugged on his hips with his ankles.

“Next time,” John promised, then slid down his body to press kisses to those gorgeous pale thighs, “Lotion?”

“S-sewing room,” Sherlock sighed, sagging in relief.

Sherlock watched John stand and walk across the sitting room and into the sewing room to root about in a drawer for the lotion. He was surprised at how relieved he was that John wasn’t going to penetrate him with that rather large cock as he turned and headed back towards Sherlock with it bobbing in the air in search of release. The man slicked his member up and then rubbed lotion along Sherlock’s thighs.

“Close your legs?” John asked.

John saw the confusion on his face, but Sherlock complied and John straddled his knees and leaned forward. It was wonderful to lay his head on that strong, hard chest and all the more rewarding when arms wrapped around him. One settled on his back and the other tangled into his hair, but gently this time as it held him lovingly instead of tugging demandingly. John whimpered in need as he held his cock with one hand and braced himself against the couch with the other. He slid his aching cock between those thighs and gasped out an affirmative as the friction sent pleasure sparking through his body.

“Sherlock,” John whispered, thrusting eagerly as he stretched across his body.

Sherlock’s eyes widened in surprise. He’d never heard of lovers doing this, but then he’d never studied sex insomuch as it was a chemical process he was aware of for the purposes of experimentation. Now he clenched his legs tightly to give John a tighter spot to thrust into and was rewarded with the man’s hungry moans. The angle changed a bit and Sherlock found John slipping just a bit between his cheeks to press against his entrance with each thrust. The head felt so big when it crossed from thigh to arse and Sherlock felt himself hardening again, his soft silk sheath stretching and pointing upwards as the bone slid forward once more. John must have felt it because he moaned and thrusted faster.

“Gods!” John panted, “I want you inside me, but I need to come _so bad_. Can I come on you Sherlock?”

“Y-yes,” Sherlock panted, his mind playing out the scene of all that cedar scented dust covering his thighs and arse and sticking to him via the lotion, “Yes!”

John came with a cry, his hips jerking spastically as he emptied himself between Sherlock’s thighs and across part of his arse. The couch likely got a liberal coating as well, but neither cared. Sherlock was stroking his hands across broad shoulders, reveling in the feel of the strong man above him, while John panted as he relaxed into Sherlock’s body.

“N-not too heavy?” John asked.

“Perfect,” Sherlock replied, pressing on his shoulders so he would know to stay right where he was. John relaxed further, sinking into Sherlock’s hard, lanky body as though he meant to be a blanket and keep him warm. Sherlock thought he might _never_ be cold again, not with this hot-bodied man nearby him. “You came back.”

“I had to,” John replied, “I thought it was for one thing, but I guess it was for something else.”

“You forgot something?” Sherlock asked, his body stiffening in alarm. _You didn’t come back because you wanted this? The look on your face when you came through the door…_

“Hmm? No.”

John was falling asleep, his body relaxed by the release and the gorgeous scent of the man below him. He knew he should stand and get them cleaned up before everything became tacky and gross, but what he really wanted was _sleep._ His exhaustion, however, didn’t prevent him from noticing his new lover stiffening beneath him.

“Sherlock?” John asked in confusion.

“You came back for something?” Sherlock amended.

“Oh, yeah,” John levered himself up on one arm, “I came back for your help, but that can wait until we get cleaned up. Come on, you gorgeous genius, you.”

Sherlock accepted John’s aid in rising and they wandered to the bathroom where John dropped to his knees and worshipfully cleaned the man’s perfect silk skin.

“Barely a seam,” John whispered, kissing each thigh and then applying a gentle kiss to the now relaxed and low-hanging bollocks he found between them, “Beautiful. You’re a work of art.”

“I’m born, not made,” Sherlock snorted.

“Still a work of art, just a natural one is all. Like a tree that is just perfectly twisted to look like it’s about to grab you and devour you whole.”

John turned heated eyes up to Sherlock’s face, but found him looking confused and troubled. He was biting at one lip like a worried child.

“What is it?” John asked.

“What did you come back for?” Sherlock asked again.

 _You_ , John wanted to answer, but that wouldn’t be honest. Instead he stood up and wrapped his arms around the tall man’s neck and stared into his eyes.

“I came back for your help. I found something horrible in Easter Village, and followed it to Christmas Town, and I think I saw it going someplace else, too. Someplace pink and red.”

“Ugh. _Valentine_ Land. Repulsive place.”

“Well, it might be destroyed soon. They all might.”

“Ah, you found out about Creepy Crawler,” Sherlock nodded knowingly, “Yes, he’s destroying _all_ of them, all of them except for Halloween Town.”

“You knew?” John asked in alarm, “Why haven’t you done anything about it?!”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed as though in confusion, “Because there is nothing _to_ do about them. Those places are all dying while we are flourishing, and we are doing so because of Crawler’s intervention.”

“He… he’s expanding Halloween Town by destroying the other holidays?!”

“Of course,” Sherlock nodded, “Where did you think all this space came from? You can’t have something get bigger without taking up room in the environment it already existed in. As we grow the other towns and villages shrink. Eventually it will be only us.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

“You knew?” John asked, his tone betrayed, “You knew and you did _nothing_?”

Sherlock sneered at him, “What do you want me to do? Go and lead your now champion-less rebel forces?”

“No, that obviously didn’t _work_ ,” John snarled angrily, “Or I’d have led them myself!”

“Then what do you propose I do?” Sherlock snapped, turning sharply and heading out of the bathroom, “Work with my brother, I suppose?”

“Anything is better than nothing!”

“Oh? Those are interesting words from a _deserter_!”

“I had nothing left to fight for!” John shouted angrily.

“And you do now?” Sherlock spun on him accusingly, “What have you to fight for now, John Leatherman? _Pink bunnies_?”

“N-no it’s…” John faltered under that heated gaze, “You.”

“Me?” Sherlock scoffed, “I _benefit_ from his wicked behavior. Halloween Town is _growing_. The bigger it is the more I have to do to keep from being bored and the easier I can hide from him. He doesn’t bother me. He spends his time harassing my brother instead, because that fat git can’t keep his nose out of what isn’t his business. If you can’t either, I suggest you go ejaculate all over his legs!”

John felt his thimble heart clench, wither, and die. He took a step back, not noticing the frantic backpedaling as Sherlock stammered and tried to take back what he’d just said. John shoved on his clothes while Sherlock babbled about rules and his experiments and how _important_ they were compared to the fucking _world_. John snatched his bag up off the floor and pounded down the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him. Mrs. Hudson was at the bottom, her bandaged form tidying the entryway.

“Oh dear,” She cooed, “Have you two had a domestic?”

John ignored her and bolted out the door. Sherlock was on his heels but John was in better shape than the man and quickly outdistanced him. John ran until it hurt and then leaned against a tree and sank down to the ground. He choked on a sob, then told himself to man up and swallowed it back down. He stared up at their pumpkin shaped sun and tried to picture the fluffy, sugar coated inhabitants of Easter Village looking up at it as well. They would hate it. They would hate it almost as much as John loved it, and they would slowly wither and die as surely as John would have if he’d stayed in their village.

_What does it matter? I’m already dead now. I’ve nothing to live for. No place to go. No friends in the world. A broken and useless heart in my chest- or what functions for a heart- and no purpose._

John closed his eyes and let himself drop into a dreamless sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

John woke when it began to rain. He looked up at the hazy sky and sighed miserably before levering himself to his feet. That was when he saw Sherlock. The man was huddling under one of John’s trashbags, which he’d apparently rooted out of his bag, leaning against the tree across from him. He was soaked and so was John, but John would weather it better since he had a protective coating on his leather now.

“Damn it, Sherlock!” John snapped angrily, “You’re going to rot!”

John grabbed Sherlock’s arm and dragged him from his crouch on the ground. He started to head back in the direction he thought Baker Tower was, but quickly found he was turned around. Sherlock was useless. He just stared at John morosely and the leatherman noted that this was one of Sherlock’s sulky moods in which he seemed to lack the _ability_ to speak or move. He was like a puppet, following John where he led but contributing nothing to the world around him.

_Not that he ever did. Why didn’t I see it before? He performed all of those experiments, but did he ever share even one of his results with the world? He has an entire building full of things that would benefit our kind and does nothing with them!_

“You are a selfish, egotistical, narcissistic, obsessive/compulsive, _needy_ man!” John ranted, “If I didn’t love you I’d _throttle_ you!”

“You love me?” Sherlock asked, finally coming out of his ennui.

“Yes! And I’d add ‘damn me to hell’ if I wasn’t already there!” John shouted uselessly as he fumbled through the woods, “Where the hell are we and how do we get home!”

“There’s a village that way,” Sherlock pointed off to their right, “With a suitable B&B. Home is much farther _that_ way,” Sherlock pointed towards the left.

“Fine!” John shouted and led the way to the right, stomping and snapping every twig he could and kicking angrily at the rocks.

They reached the B&B on the outskirts of a tiny village just shy of nightfall and John stomped into the doorway.

“A room and a blow-dryer,” John growled at the innkeeper.

The man scurried to obey, giving them a worried look and came back with a key and the blow-dryer.

“There’s one in the room, but I thought you could use two. There’s only one bed. Full sized, not that you two will mind,” The man winked, “Take care you dry off before making up from your tiff.”

“We’re not… never mind,” John sighed and dragged Sherlock up the stairs to room 3.

He sat him down and started up the dryer: “Strip.”

Sherlock tugged his clothes off, dropping them on the floor, and John focused on the parts of him that had been exposed in the rain. He dropped to his knees, trying not to remember how he’d been on them just a few hours earlier for a very different reason.

“You’re daft, you know that?”

“As well as selfish, egotistical, narcissistic, obsessive/compulsive, and needy?” Sherlock inquired.

“Yes.”

“I would like to state for the record that you neglected to mention ‘genius’.”

“Fine. Daft genius. Daft, selfish, egotistical, narcissistic, ocd, and needy genius.”

“I don’t have ocd.”

“You don’t _not_ have it.”

“Double negative.”

“Mm.”

John got his feet and legs dry and took his hands to check them. They were dry but once he had clasped them he didn’t want to let them go. He held them, rubbing his thumb over the metacarpals and studying the trembling digits.

“You’re trembling.”

“So are you.”

“Cold?”

“No.”

John reached up to run his hands through the man’s hair and over his face- to make sure he wasn’t drenched there, of course. Those cheekbones really could cut glass. He loved that Sherlock was barely more than silken skin and bones. He could map every single bit of him with his fingers and soon was. He ran them from the top of his head to his feet, slowly stroking him until he was panting with desire.

“You’re still wet,” Sherlock breathed as John gently pressed him into the mattress.

“Nah, I dried off. All that high quality leather treatment you developed and then pushed on me. My skin wasn’t penetrated by the rain.”

John slowly removed his own clothes while straddling Sherlock’s perfect hips. He ran his fingers across them again, just to feel the protruding bone. _I could cut myself on those, too_. _I wonder what they’ll feel like digging into my thighs._

John sighed in bliss as he pressed closer, squeezing those perfect hips with his legs. Sherlock was running his hands up and down John’s thighs as though he needed a fix of him. When he ran them over John’s chest as well and teased the knots that were meant to symbolize nipples John’s hips bucked.

“You are a bad man, Sherlock Skellington, a _very_ bad man.”

“I’ve tried to be better. You make me better.”

“We’ve known each other weeks.”

“And you’re already obsessed with me,” Sherlock pointed out, “Clearly we can’t just run off into the woods and forget about the other.”

“So I’m the one obsessed now? You did follow me, to your own detriment.”

“And here we are, with you pinning me to a bed.”

“And you wanting me to.”

“And you needing me to want you to.”

“And you and your damn _cheekbones_.”

“I rather thought it was my hips you were focused on.”

John squeezed them again and Sherlock bucked his hips up in search of friction.

“What am I going to do with you, Sherlock? What?”

“Everything. Anything. Don’t leave again. I thought you’d come back for _me_ , I…”

Sherlock broke off, looking alarmed and flustered. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands or his emotions so he just gripped John’s hips and looked away awkwardly.

“You sad, sad man. How long have you been alone, hm? More importantly, how long have you been lonely?”

“I’ve always been alone,” Sherlock shrugged indifferently, “I didn’t know what lonely was until yesterday.”

“Always. Always alone. Always lonely. No wonder you don’t care how big the world gets around you.”

“I’m alone in a _crowd_ , too, John. Being amongst others doesn’t stop one from being lonely.”

“You need me, too,” John decided.

Sherlock stared at him silently for a moment and then gave a curt nod. John dove in and captured those full lips before he could start chewing on them again and they were kissing slowly and sensually with the exploration that they hadn’t had time for before. John’s hands traveled down protruded ribs and dipped into those curving hips, he gave each hipbone a squeeze and then went further south to push his hands beneath and give Sherlock’s small buttocks a squeeze.

“So this is where all your stuffing is.”

“Shut it,” Sherlock chuckled and bit John’s lip.

“Shall I stuff you a bit more?”

“Mm?” Sherlock gave John a confused look and John faltered.

“Well, I meant more than a bit. Ahh, you don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Do you mean sex?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.”

John blinked, “Sherlock… haven’t you ever…”

“No, but I’m a fast study. I _have_ brought you off twice now despite my inexperience.”

“True, there’s no denying that,” John chuckled, then slid down the man’s body to run his tongue over the tip of his cockhead, “What I meant was do you want _me_ inside _you_ , or the other way round?”

Sherlock thought a moment, “You inside me, I think.”

John nodded, smiling at that answer. While he’d enjoyed being fisted he wanted to fuck Sherlock stupid- in fact he planned to. John moved lower and started at Sherlock’s ankles. He slowly worked his way up him, kissing every seam, licking all the little stitches along his inseam, and paying special attention to sensitive repaired tears. By the time he reached Sherlock’s crotch again the man was panting, but John merely gave him a smirk and bypassed it to nuzzle his abdomen. Being born, Sherlock had a legitimate belly button- though it was also made of silky fabric, which had been tied off. John gave it a little nip and Sherlock jumped and frowned down at him.

“Get _on_ with it!”

“Nuh uh,” John grinned, but did climb a bit higher and start in on those lovely nipples again.

“What are you _waiting_ for?”

“I’m not waiting for anything, I’m taking my time. See? Quite the opposite. You might just spur me along if you get me wound up enough.”

“And h-how c-could I do that?” Sherlock gasped, wriggling and arching his hips in search of friction.

“You might try touching me back?” John teased as he reached the man’s neck and began to lath it with attention.

Sherlock grabbed him and rolled them over, straddling the man’s hips and smirking down at him wickedly.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Sherlock kissed John hard and the man moaned to encourage him. Then he started down the way John had worked his way up. John found himself panting as clever lips and sharp teeth worked him into frenzy. He hadn’t actually thought Sherlock would participate, but there he was, flicking his nipples with that talented tongue of his. Sherlock gave John’s fake belly button- an actual wooden button- a nip, resulting in a giggle, and headed down to breathe hotly on his cock before bypassing it with a vengeful glance up at John that did wonders for the stuffing pumping south.

Sherlock’s perfect mouth went lower to lap beneath John’s knees until his legs shook before impatiently working his way back up and straddling his hips. John reached for the bedside table where he’d stashed some lotion from the loo, but Sherlock beat him there and smirked.

“Roll over.”

“I thought I was…”

“Now.”

John rolled his eyes but complied, lifting his hips so Sherlock could begin prepping him, but the man pushed them back down until they lay flat.

“Uh… Sherlock?”

“Hold still,” Sherlock ordered, and then straddled John’s waist and ran lotion-covered hands over his shoulders and down his back in a smooth motion. John shivered from the chill, but the next stroke was firm and brought out a moan as his body began to relax into the massage. Sherlock worked his way down John’s body, paying attention to every inch of him, until John was a mess of pleasure. His skin felt soft and plaint beneath Sherlock’s nimble fingers.

“Now I want to be on top,” Sherlock said sulkily.

John chuckled, “Your call. I’ve done both and enjoyed both.”

“I’ve done neither,” Sherlock replied, “My inexperience could harm you, what with my cock being made of bone.”

“It’s a bit sick that I’m turned on by that,” John ground against the mattress to relieve some of his tension.

“What if we took turns since you’re amiable to either position? Once I’ve felt your proficiency against my backside I should be capable of imitating your procedures without further difficulty.”

“Oh, yeah, use those big words you fucking genius,” John moaned, thrusting a bit faster.

“John!” Sherlock stated sharply, giving his bottom a sharp slap, “Don’t you _dare_ come outside of my arse!”

“Buggering hell,” John groaned.

“Well, if you _wouldn’t mind_!”

“Okay! Okay!”

John rolled over in order to halt his instinctive urge to frot against something and Sherlock climbed up in his lap like a four legged spider. John was panting with want as he fingered Sherlock open, watching his jaw drop open with an audible crack. The Skellington was beyond sexy. He could well see why a previous creation of Dr. F’s had fallen so hard for Sherlock’s ancestor. Finally he had stretched the threads around Sherlock’s lush bottom enough for his thick cock to fit into. John shamelessly tugged the man into position. Sherlock met his eyes with a wicked grin that would have been terrifying had John not been a braver scarecrow. Then his eyes trembled and slid shut as John lowered him slowly down on his cock.

“You’ve got a…”

“Of course,” Sherlock panted, his expression stressed, “Oh, the burn is delicious!”

“Don’t rush it.”

“I won’t tear like you might. You’re impressive but hardly capable of _boning_ me,” Sherlock quipped.

“Fine then,” John smirked, and thrust up into him hard.

Sherlock shouted in gleeful pain and John rolled them, pounding relentlessly into the long-limbed genius. Sherlock’s bony fingers dug into his leather skin, ten pinpoints of pain along his shoulders and back that quickly worked their way down to John’s arse to grip him there.

“Let’s speed things up, shall we?” Sherlock leered, and slid his fingers along John’s arsehole.

“Oh gods,” John groaned.

Sherlock slid a lubricated finger into John, his hands moving with his jerking hips as the leatherman thrust into him in increasingly shaky motions. The stimulation of Sherlock’s digits working their way into him was overwhelming him. He was going to come far sooner than he’d planned. John tried to focus, to bring himself down, but Sherlock had found that _spot_ inside of him and… that wasn’t _fair!_ John had been avoiding Sherlock’s p-spot so the mad creature could bugger him next, but if he was going to _cheat_ …

Sherlock tossed his head and moaned in a mixture of agony and pleasure as John found and stimulated his prostate, his thick member easily driving him wild.

“Oh gods!” Sherlock cried out, “I can feel every _stitch!”_

“Yeah,” John growled, nipping at his earlobe, “Loving this, aren’t you? You royal pain in the _argh!_ ”

Sherlock had pressed against John’s sensitive button again and it had been too much for him, with a few more frantic thrusts John was coming inside of his silken lover, the scent of cedar and pine filling the room. John shivered at the second scent, left over from swallowing down Sherlock’s dust the previous time they’d pleasured each other. John lay still a moment, stretched across his thin prince while the nimble creature continued stretching him open.

“I’m used to screams of terror in my presence, not pleasure,” Sherlock purred into his ear, “I think I much prefer the sound of your climax. I wonder if I can wring out another from you.”

John whimpered and Sherlock rolled them over, sliding off of John’s slowly softening prick. John glanced down at the deflating leather sheath and then further past to where Sherlock was kneeling with a rigid member standing straight at attention.

“I can’t believe I swallowed that,” John panted.

“Can’t you?” Sherlock growled, “You know, when I had my hand on the back of your head my cock was prodding my hand. That’s how deep I was inside of you.”

John moaned and lifted his thighs, offering himself up.

“Oh no,” Sherlock smirked, “Roll over. I want to see if I can fuck you right straight through and into your own cock.”

John made a rather humiliating sound at that, rolled over, and eagerly held his arsecheeks aside. Sherlock slid in slowly despite his earlier words, giving John time to adjust to a shaft that was far harder than any he’d taken before. The closest to compare was Sherlock’s hand when he’d replaced John’s stuffing, but that had been done with utmost delicacy due to the thicker girth of his wrist. Now John was about to be _fucked_ with what was essentially a hard bone covered in silk. He couldn’t _wait_.

John stared down at his limp cock and saw as well as felt the moment that Sherlock’s long member penetrated the cavity of his own leather shaft. He gasped as pleasure sparked through him from both his prostate button and the internal nerve threads of his cock. Sherlock’s cock was thick enough to press into John’s member from the inside by about three inches. There he held it while John panted. Stuffing was trying valiantly to move into his cock, but it was blocked by Sherlock’s hard bone.

“Ready?” Sherlock panted.

“Yes,” John breathed.

Sherlock slid free and John howled as stuffing poured into his cock. Sherlock’s next thrust took him back into a _full_ cavity and John hissed as pain and pleasure waltzed together through his body. The head of his cock bulged out and then deflated to normal size as Sherlock pulled back. Again he thrust in and John was seeing sparks. He could barely draw breath as he pressed back, eager for more despite a growing ache in his body.

“I can’t tell if I’m going to come or split at the seams!” John shouted.

“If you tear I’ll stitch you back together again,” Sherlock purred, “Would you like that, John? Would you like me to take you apart and put you back together again?”

“Yes!” John sobbed.

Sherlock’s expression when John threw a look over his shoulder was downright terrifying. He looked fit to murder someone. John moaned in bliss and a rush of cedar spilled from his body onto the bedding below. Sherlock groaned at the sudden clench of John’s body, especially the rush of shifting fabric as his lover climaxed, and then his cock was pulsing as pine dust filled John’s aching body.

John whimpered and slid off of Sherlock’s thick rod and onto the bed. He lay there, face down and limp as an overcooked noodle, while Sherlock smirked and examined John.

“There, see? Completely unharmed. I told you I’d get it in one go if given an example to follow. Alright, John?”

John whimpered as reply and let himself fall into blissful unconsciousness.

 


	7. Chapter 7

John woke up back on the couch in Baker Tower with no recollection of how he’d returned there. Sherlock was pacing the room and staring at the wall over the couch. John glanced up at it to see it covered with a gigantic map of all the worlds. He sat up in shock.

“They cross each other?”

“We’re layered like a cake,” Sherlock replied, “How else do you think doors lead from one to another?”

“So… So…”

“It loops. Space isn’t as solid as you imagine.”

John stared at the image, which was round and showed all their worlds flexing around each other, and then noticed the images tacked on top of them.

“The kings.”

“And queens, yes,” Sherlock nodded, “The Easter Bunny has been missing for some time now, but Santa Claws went into hiding and has been in contact with Mycroft. He’s trying to get help from the other kingdoms as you are. We’ll get in touch with him. The Cupid has had his wings ripped off and was placed in a gigantic cage in the middle of Valentine Town. We can free him if you like.”

“Yes please,” John replied, his tone slightly sarcastic, “You’ve known all this how long?”

“Refrain from judging, John,” Sherlock scolded, “You’ve made me a better person. Accept that.”

“Right then, who else?”           

“The Leprechaun is still holding out against Creepy Crawler. We’ll see him first. Thanksgiving Town is gone as far as I can tell, taking Trot out of the picture. Then there’s _this_ place.”

Sherlock tapped a small dot in the middle of their large globe of worlds.

“What is that?” John asked.

“No idea. The tree image looks like a bunch of stars over a red background with a stem. When opened it deposits you back in your own area, no matter which world you open it from. It seems to _know_.”

“Master reset?” John chuckled.

“I don’t think so,” Sherlock replied, “Look at the map. There’s room for something _more_. Not just there, but outside of our realm as well. My belief is that there are more worlds. _Infinite_ worlds. Holidays we’ve never even seen or heard of before.”

“Could Creepy Crawler have gotten to them?”

“Not likely. If he had we’d have seen some effects from it by now,” Sherlock replied, “My theory is that door is the mythical ‘New Year’s Eve’ and that it only opens on that specific day. Sadly every time I’ve tried to test my theory something has gone wrong to waylay my arrival at the door. Even camping out in front of it has produced no results. I suddenly felt sleepy and woke up in another part of the forest!”

“Wicked!” John whispered, eyes wide with excitement, “So that’s where we should start!”

“I did _just_ say it wasn’t possible. Anyway. The last area on the outside is the legendary ‘Dream’ kingdom and of course we’ve all been visited by the Tooth Fairy.”

“Not me. Wooden teeth.”

“Hm,” Sherlock replied, not really paying attention.

“So when do we leave?”

“We need to replenish the resources we lost yesterday and pack a sack up. Then we’ll leave.”

XXX

Leprechaun was a shock to be sure. He was a burly elf, only about four feet tall, with an impressive red beard and moustache. He has a four leaf clover tattoo on his chest, visible through his open white dress shirt, but it wasn’t your typical green sort; it was a mash of celtic knots all done in green ink. His kilt was girded with a dirk and large, furred sporran. His feet were shod with large boots that seemed to dwarf his already thick, muscled, and hairy legs. John would have been hot for him had he not already had Sherlock on his arm.

<http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/3c/4d/f9/3c4df960281e9b562de562ea8a747c6d.jpg>

“Hello Padraig,” Sherlock greeted.

“Oi,” He greeted, barely giving them a glance. He was twirling a coin between his knuckles with ease, not even glancing at his manipulations as he stared at a map on the wall.

“His map is different than yours,” John noted, “It looks like a tornado.”

“My map was the _old_ one. His is what our worlds look like now,” Sherlock explained.

“ _Gods_!” John hissed in horror, “We’re the eye of the hurricane.”

“Damn right you are!” Padraig snarled.

“Padraig,” Sherlock jumped in, “I’d like to…”

“Ya’ll get out, is what ya’ll do!” Padraig shouted over his shoulder as he turned more fully towards his map, “And it’s Mr. Leprechaun to you Prince Scaredy Cat!”

“You’re planning an assault. We’d like to aid you. I can rally two hundred Trick or Treaters by noon,” Sherlock stated.

Padraig turned around fully, giving him a shocked look before a grin spread across his face, “Well if that doesn’t beat all! Welcome to the good fightm Skellington! Eh? Who’s yer padded friend?”

“Padded?!” John snapped.

“He doesn’t know that’s an insult,” Sherlock waved at John, “This is my consort John.”

“ _Consort_?!” John all but shouted.

“You prefer catamite?” Sherlock asked with a frown.

John’s mouth opened and shut in horror while Padraig grinned and approached to grab his hand and squeeze the stuffing into his arm with his enthusiastic handshake. John worked his stuffing back into his digits with one hand while forcing on a smile for the grinning elf.

“It’s about damn time, Skellington!”

“Please, call me Sherlock,” Sherlock replied, “Skellington is my brother.”

“We’re about to launch an attack on Crawler’s fortress, Skellington. You couldn’t have come at a better time,” Padraig continued.

“I thought freeing Cupid might be a bit…” John started.

“It will be a brave last stand!” Leprechaun announced loudly, slamming one meaty fist into the palm of the other hand.

“Exactly why it isn’t a decent plan,” Sherlock sighed, “I have one we’ll live to tell about if you’d care to…”

“The trees will sing our names!” Padraig announced.

“Off pitch,” Sherlock sighed.

“Is he deaf?” John wondered.

“Mind yer manners!” Padraig shouted at him angrily, “I can hear better than you can smile, you foppish prat!”

John frowned but didn’t reply. They needed this strange elfs help.

“Where’s Santa?” Sherlock cut in.

“How the hell should I know? It wasn’t my turn to watch ‘im!” Padraig shouted angrily, “Now about our Last Stand-”

“I’d rather make a _first_ one, if it’s all the same to you,” Sherlock cut in, stepping forward and taking a red pushpin from Padraig’s hand, “I’ll be leading. Go make yourself useful. Elsewhere.”

“Why of all the…!” Padraig shouted, waving his arms. Then he stomped out, giving John a grin and a wink on his way. John stared after him in surprise, a grin on his face, and then turned to Sherlock.

“So what’s the plan, your majesty?”

“Cor, don’t do that. My title is a joke. A bad one. Now then… We’ll need to contact Santa Claws. John, that’s your task. He was last spotted in Easter Village, south of Peep Farm in The Warren.”

“There’s nothing south of Peep Farm,” John replied miserably, “Peep Farm is all that’s left.”

“Damn,” Sherlock sighed, “That was the closest link to Christmas town besides… _Here!_ He’ll be here! John, you _must_ find him!”

“What?” John gaped, “But Halloween Town is huge!”

“You’re a military man! You can do it,” Sherlock replied nudging him towards the doorway, “I’ll work on rescuing Cupid while you-“

“Sherlock, I’ve no idea where to start!”

“Don’t be stupid. You start with Mycroft,” Sherlock scoffed, “You _always_ start with Mycroft. Even Creepy Crawler started with him.”

John was unceremoniously shoved out the door and ended up stomping down the path on his way to visit _Mycroft_ again.

“Well, back to the beginning,” John sighed.


	8. Chapter 8

John found patrols stomping around and quickly ducked behind a heap of rotting corpses. What appeared to be clockwork men in red clothes with white beards and clawed lobster hands stomped past him. They were over ten feet tall and loud. He gave them a glare and then worked his way towards the large castle that housed King Mycroft- the ‘mere figurehead’ who apparently had information John needed. When last he was here local guard had escorted him in. Now there appeared to be none, only their horrific robotic monstrosities. The entire city appeared to be empty, dead in a way that even a Halloween Town resident would find repellent.

The castle had been built at the base of several mountains, the castle now taking the place of one of the peaks. Behind it and to each side was solid, un-climbable rock. John studied the terrain in front of it instead and found an area where a trellis had overgrown. The strangling creeper vines were thick and- if stunned to avoid them trapping him- he could use them to climb up. John found the nearest electric post and tugged the wires loose. He used some metal from a nearby trashcan to rig a line to the vines and fried the plants, grinning to himself as he went. He had a few singes on his fingers, but overall he wasn’t a conductor so he just felt a bit… itchy.

From there he climbed the twisted vines onto a ledge and quickly ducked down. The damn ledge led straight to the guard tower at the front gates! So far no one had spotted him, but he’d have to be careful. He had two options once he crept in; climb down into the guard tower through the trap door they used to get to their positions up top, or jump off of it and hope he didn’t pop a seam. He glanced at the guard’s formation, decided which was best, and then slipped down the ladder into the guard tower. He quickly hurried out the door, timing their passing, and slipped into the shadow of the hill. He waited in silence, completely still, and stared up at the edge of the hill until he saw the guard glinting in the distance. They didn’t spot him, looking from left to right three times before turning and repeating their pattern.

John grinned and hurried on. To his right was a pathway that ended in a stone pile, to the left was a meadow, curving ahead and to the left was the patway to the castle. John waited and counted the guard’s pattern, then quickly slipped up in a gap between the gate guard’s patrol and the ground guard’s patrol. He stuck to the meadow and used the tall grass to his advantage. The next gate that led across the moat was heavily guarded, so John searched around for another way to get in. He found yet _another_ overgrown trellis (note to self, encourage Sherlock to pay his gardeners and groundskeepers well) but had no electricity to zap it with this time. He considered the situation and then slipped away with an evil grin to snatch up a nearby Jack-O’-Lantern. He tossed it into the creeper vines and watched it wrap around it in an eager grip. John quickly scaled it while it was engaged, knowing it would ignore too-large prey if it already had some food. He scrambled over, and jumped down to the cobbled walkway to one side of the moat.

Knowing he wouldn’t last long on their _front step_ , John slipped into the water that surrounded the castle. He’d be soaked through, but he had little choice. Repairs could be made later when he wasn’t in frantic need. He swam all the way around the two sides of the castle the moat went through before climbing out when he’d reached the grated area where it continued beneath the castle. His first thought was to access via this grate and some water retrieval system within, but so far he couldn’t see a way to get through the grate without un-stuffing himself. He’d have a hell of a lot of trouble on the other side, assuming his stuffing didn’t just wash away. Or him.

John climbed out onto the cobbled area near two large crates and squeezed out his clothes. As he walked around the crates he froze in alarm. Mr. Hyde was sound asleep on the ground snoring softly. John hadn’t even seen him due to the angle and the position of the crates. Across from where he was laying was… a spillway! The castle had an interior garden and it drained into the moat! The spillway would be triggered only by overflow water via a board with flotation devices on it on the other side. It wouldn’t be accessible from his side, but he was resourceful all he had to do was get it to open enough for him to get through.

Except that Mr. Hyde was in his way, apparently there to deliver the crates but still waiting for the storage door to be opened. John stepped forward with a sad sigh, knowing that if the man woke it would bring guards. He knelt beside him as silently as possible and then shoved him into the water and landed on top with all his heavy, water-laden weight to hold him down. Mr. Hyde writhed and splashed, trying to make it out of the water, but John was stubborn and he didn’t require breath. Except he wasn’t as smart as he was stubborn and talented. Mini Hyde popped out of his hat in a bubble of air and took a deep breath, intending on screaming. John grabbed him and forced him under, but Tiny Hyde lifted Mini Hyde’s hat and _screamed_.

John scrambled, kicking off against Mr. Hyde’s head and shoving Tiny Hyde beneath the water as well. There was a wild scramble and John was dragged beneath the waves. They thrashed together, but Mr. Hyde had swallowed a great deal of water and Mini Hyde wasn’t far behind. In the end it became a fight between John and Tiny Hyde, and he had him tied up in his shirt and sunk by the end of the mess. John scrambled onto land and wrung himself out again, squeezing out the most water as he could from his soggy limbs. He knew he was just going to get wet again, but for now it was necessary to dry himself repeatedly anyway in order to keep himself mobile.

The crates turned out to be full of coffins, but John wasn’t interested in their contents. Instead he shifted the crates to the edge and used them for height to jump to the spillway ledge. He nearly toppled back, but just managed to climb up. Here he was grateful for his small stature, slipping into the small rectangular easily. Inside he wedged up the entrance by pressing his fingers against the rack and letting the soggy digits shift beneath. He pried them up until he managed to slide his entire arm beneath- hoping there was no one on the other side- and finally got the heavy board up enough to shove his head beneath. The rest of him followed like an animal giving birth and he toppled down into a small fountain. He quickly scrambled out and hovered on the edge, squeezing the water out into the fountain as much as possible to avoid a trail being left. He debated on whether or not he could let himself dry out and then decided it was impossible.

John continued on to find a guard patrolling a small hedged area consisting of a long hedge with a square beside it. Simple. He waited till the guard rounded the hedge. Next were two square fountains, but there were two guards this time and they weren’t walking in perfect formation. John had to make it past one before the other rounded the corner. He made it past them, and came to yet another garden. This one had a large, shady, overhead trellis roof. This one was more about skill than stealth as he walked over the guard’s head, careful to NOT crunch the ivy growing across and over it. Now there were _two_ guards patrolling around a pretentious statue of Creepy Crawler. These two were also patrolling a bit out of sync, so John had to dodge about until he had managed to find a break in them to find…

A hedge maze.

Or that’s what it looked like. Again, John realized that the gardener and/or groundskeeper didn’t give a flying fuck. Once he rounded the first hedge area he found a simple long hedge in the shape of a rectangle with another stupid statue in the middle, though far smaller than the previous one. The guards were practically walking together, so John waited until they hovered in the far right corner and started chatting together. When they moved on, one at a time again, he slid quickly into the large central garden in the middle of the castle. Here he could get to each of the wings via a window or even a door.

Except he didn’t have to.

Mycroft Skellington was standing on a stone dining area on the far side of the garden with a smile on his face and his umbrella in his hand.

“Hello Captain Leatherman,” Mycroft purred, “You’re late.”


	9. Chapter 9

_This story is now an AU Crossover of Sherlock BBC, The Nightmare Before Christmas, and Rise of the Guardians._

John glanced over his shoulder and then back to King Mycroft, then around himself in confusion. Finally he crossed the small meadow-like garden area and ascended the steps to the patio.

“You… You were expecting me?”

“Did you think Sherlock was the only genius in the family? You’re looking for Nicholas St. North- better known to you as Santa Claws or Sandy Claws,“ John froze in alarm and glanced around anxiously, but Mycroft merely smirked, “Relax, John. I’m always prepared. No one will overhear us here. Come to the window. This is a special window. It looks as if it’s merely a false window- a bit of painted glass made to give you the illusion of a window while protecting privacy- but in fact it’s [special glass](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Smart_glass). Throw this hidden switch here and…”

John jumped backwards in alarm, as what looked like a stained glass window became a clear one. Mycroft snickered at him, so John solidified his stance and strode forward to stare into the throne room. There sat Creepy Crawler- for all practical purposes the real king- sitting on the Steward’s Chair and giving orders to the tin men. John watched as he stood and walked over to the display where Mycroft’s crowns were sealed behind glass. As he passed it he ran all six of his fingers across it with an audible squeal, leaving deep gashes in the glass.

John pulled out his gun, but Mycroft put his hand over it, “Killing him now would only accomplish so much, even if you _could_ shoot through this window.”

“Why? He’s the problem, isn’t he?” John asked, anger tingeing his voice.

“Yes, but not the _final_ problem,” Mycroft sighed, “You think one man has done all this? If that were the case I’d have disposed of him ages ago. Creepy Crawler is backed up by a network that spreads not only through Halloween Town, but through the entire of all the known worlds.”

“That’s why Sherlock said it was hopeless…”

“I should hope he didn’t,” Mycroft scoffed, “Or you wouldn’t be here.”

“He told me you know where Sandy Claws is.”

“I do. And others.”

“Others?” John asked in surprise.

“The Easter Bunny, Tom Turkey, and Santa are all under my protection. However,” Here Mycroft paused and gave him an intense stare, “They are much weakened. Sadly, Punxsutawney Phillip is no more and Toothiana has gone into hiding. The key to all of this is Jack Frost, and he’s the only one I have no location on.”

 

“Jack Frost?” John frowned, “I’ve not heard of him.”

“He’s connected to more than one Holiday,” Mycroft replied, “Jack Frost is the only spirit I know of who has seen New Year’s Day.”

John’s eyes widened, “Sherlock mentioned that. What’s the significance? What’s there?”

“No one knows,” Mycroft replied, “There are many theories. That opening the door resets all our worlds to their birth day. That it would destroy them. That it would unite them into one world. Or…”

“Or?”

“Or that it leads to worlds unknown and uncountable,” Mycroft replied, “Which is the theory that Creepy Crawler favours.”

“He’d be unstoppable,” John whispered in horror.

“Exactly.”

“So where _are_ Santa and the others?” John wondered.

“Tooth is hiding inside her star,” Mycroft replied, “You’ll need Santa just to get to her. Tom Turkey is being fattened for a feast- his world is gone and so is his mind- so you’ll find him in our stables. He’s rather useless, to be honest and his absence would be noted. Then there’s E. Aster Bunnymund…”

Mycroft smirked and nodded back towards the garden. John stared out into it until a small rabbit hopped into view. He had what looked like tattooed eyebrows on his forehead. He was adorable.

“Ummm… maybe just let me know where Santa is?” John asked.

“Don’t let my size fool you,” A deceptively deep voice snapped out of the tiny rabbit, “I’m more than I appear. _This_ is what Creepy Crawler has done to me! Tom’s worse off. He’s not even able to _think_ anymore.”

“John,” Mycroft spoke, drawing his attention back to him, “Take Bunny here and head back. He can contact Santa, and I have a feeling he’s got a few surprises for you where Jack Frost is concerned.”

“Jack?!” Bunny snarled, “That little larrikin?!”

“Come on then,” John sighed, ignoring the fuming rabbit, “Let’s go. It’s a pain to get out of here so stay quiet, okay? In fact, you’d better just get in my pock-“

Bunnymund gave him an insulted look and stomped his foot twice on the ground right at John’s feet. The ground opened up and John fell through with a yelp of surprise.

“Ah, John,” Sherlock nodded to him as he scrambled to his feet. The hole he’d just fallen _up_ from had vanished and Bunny was giving him a nasty grin, “And Bunny. Welcome.”

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Bunny snarled, hoping forward and pointing angrily at Sherlock with one adorable digit, “I only agreed to come here because Mycroft assured me you’re not going to be a lazy, selfish arsehole anymore, but I want to hear it from your own gob. Are you going to fight for the rest of the kingdoms, or sit back and absorb all of us like a greedy chicken?”

“Fight, obviously,” Sherlock replied, “We’re about to go free Cupid.”

“You’d better hurry then,” Bunny replied, “He’ll not last long if Crawler gets his way.”

“Who is he known as there?” Sherlock asked, “My intel from that area is woefully small.”

“Hearty Warty,” Leprechaun announced with a snort of disgust.

“That’s… revolting,” Sherlock shuddered.

John snickered, “Who was he in Clover Town?”

“Green Goober,” Sherlock snorted when Padraig refused to answer.

John roared with laughter and Sherlock smirked, “Turkeyton was worse. He was Pumpkin Patty there.”

John leaned on Sherlock, shaking with laughter as he shook his head, “What kind of a _nut_ picks those names?”

“A madman who knows being ridiculous will keep him under the radar,” Bunny pointed out.

John’s laughter ended abruptly and he gave the room a sober look, “This is seriously off. He’s outwitted all of you at least once. We need to be organized and vicious.”

“Obviously,” Sherlock replied, “However, I do believe I sent you for Santa? We can’t even _get_ to Cupid without him. Or recruit Tooth, for that matter.”

“I was told Bunny here could get us to Santa and would somehow magic up Jack Frost.”

“Humph!” Bunny replied, wriggling his nose, “I’ve got nothing on Frost, but I can get you to Santa. He’s taking a page out of Crawler’s book and hiding in plain sight.”

“He’s here, obviously,” Sherlock replied, “But where? Or whom, as the case may be?”

Bunny grinned, “Right in front of you.”

“You?” John asked, gaping.

“Naw,” Bunny laughed before sniffing the air, “Over there.”

Sherlock and John both turned and stared at Leprechaun who snorted and shook his head, “Nope, wrong again. For a genius yer not very bright.”

Padraig stepped away from the fireplace and nodded to it. John approached with the clear intent of looking up it, but Sherlock’s chuckle stopped him. The fireplace stretched out, then shifted and became a large man, burly and reeking of masculinity. He wore red and black trimmed with fur, his arms exposed to reveal two tattoo sleeves that read _Naughty_ and _Nice_ with patterns around them. On his hip was a sheathed sword.

“Well,” John swallowed, stepping back and accidentally plastering himself against Sherlock’s hard chest, “You don’t look as… affected… by all this.”

“It helps that people in Halloween Town believe in Christmas as well,” He replied, his accent as sexy as his tattoos.

“How does believing in you help?” Sherlock asked.

“I can’t explain it,” North replied, “It strengthens me. Before I came here I was as weak as a kitten, as small as an elf. It was embarrassing. Eh, Bunny?”

Bunny grumbled angrily, but John distracted him by scratching behind his ear.

“Oi! Don’t do that unless you mean it!” Bunny snapped, shoving him aside.

“We need to reach Cupid before it’s too late,” North declared, “And from there we must call Toothiana. She has hidden herself in her star, but if we can just reach her…”

“What about the Sand Man?” Sherlock asked, “Is he real? Or the Man in the Moon?”

“I’ve heard of neither,” Santa replied, “Though there were times I thought I heard whispers.”

“The question is, who would they side with?” John worried.

“Pitch Black was always a good friend,” Sherlock sighed, “Until he suddenly switched over to supporting Creepy Crawler. Who knows about the others? Is Toothiana even to be trusted? By curling up in her star she has secured a sanctuary that the lot of you are not able to find.”

“I would bet my life on Toothiana. It is _you_ I had to test,” Santa replied, “You have been hiding for far too long, prince of Halloween.”

“Yes, yes, I’m a coward. How dull,” Sherlock sighed, “I thought my brother was helping you all? He’s the Pumpkin King with the Skeleton Grin now, it’s his problem.”

“Then what are you doin’ here now?” Leprechaun asked.

“John has expressed his interest in destroying Creepy Crawler, and it’s impeding my concentration. The sooner he’s gone the sooner I can go back to experiments, mysteries, and sodomy.”

“Charming as always,” John sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Fine,” Santa chuckled, “Is good motivation. I can respect that.”

“Really?!” Bunny asked, looking disgusted.

“So now we are more,” Santa nodded, “Now we move forward with plan. You bring your 200 Trick or Treaters and we take back Valentineville!”

Armor was pulled out of trunks and John happily armed himself. Sherlock grinned as he laid out his plans while Bunny hopped about underfoot.

“What about me? Eh? What about me?”

“You stay out of the way,” Padraig snapped, shoving Bunny aside with his foot.

Sherlock scooped him up and placed him on the table next to his maps, “Stay here Mr. Bunnymund, I can use the intel.”

“I’m a warrior!”

“Not today,” John replied, “I’m not one to doubt someone based on size, but you’re a casualty at this point. Stay here and recover.”

“How can I do that with Easterville shrinking!” Bunny raged.

“Get someone to believe in you here?” John suggested, “Why don’t you hide some eggs?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Bunny mused.

XXX

Sherlock waited for twelve hours before fear started to claw at his heart. Intel flowed in from everywhere but Valentineville. In the last twelve hours Toothiana’s star had gone out, Tom had been served for dinner at Mycroft’s tables despite his attempts to stop it, Groundhog Prairie had been overrun by coyote’s, and Valentineville had gone silent. Bunnymund was off delivering eggs in an attempt to bring belief to his holiday, but Sherlock didn’t have time to spare a thought for him. He was trying to muse out the Moon and Dreams. They had no realm- as Toothiana had no actual realm- but it made sense that they might exists. Toothiana had the stars and Pitch had the nightmares, so why not Moons and Dreams?

If so, would they join their fight? Toothiana’s star was dark, but did that mean she was gone? Or that she’d come down to join them? Or their enemies? What of their battle? Had all gone wrong?

“Nothing?” A small voice asked.

Sherlock glanced down at the tiny pooka on the ground, “Nothing.”

The ears drooped, “If we’ve lost North we’ve lost everything.”

“You know nothing of losing everything,” Sherlock growled angrily.

“Uh, _hello_?!” Bunny snapped, “I’ve lost my entire damn world! Or just about it. And my power. What about you, prince poppycock? Your power’s been increasing, hasn’t it? Do something already!”

“It hasn’t.”

“What?”

“My power hasn’t been increasing,” Sherlock grumbled, “Neither has Mycroft’s. That’s what doesn’t make sense. If our powers are tied to our worlds than why is it that Santa still has power? Why is it that mine isn’t growing with my world? Why has yours shrunk?”

“How the hell should I know?” Bunny grumbled, “I hid my googies. Wrote ‘Easter Bunny’ on them all. If North is right than by dawn I should be myself again.”

“Hmph. And what of me? Did my great grandfather’s meddling somehow change things? People in Christmas Town believe in Halloween Town. People in Halloween Town believe in Christmas Town. Both are still powerful, despite Creepy Crawler invading each. Both are still… both are… The maps! Where are the maps! I need the maps! Old maps! New maps! All the maps!”

Sherlock scrambled across the room, tearing it apart in search of the old and new maps. Then he laid them side-by-side. A quick spell and he laid them one on top of the other.

“There. There it is,” Sherlock whispered in horror.

“Crikey,” Bunny hissed, having hopped up on the chair and then to the table, “It’s right in the middle.”

“Which means only one thing,” Sherlock whispered, “Valentineville would have fallen _right_ after Groundhog Prairie, and Lucky Valley and Easter were both already taken and weakened… Cupid was being dangled in front of our noses as a _lure_.”

“It was a _trap_!” Bunny groaned.

“One I sent John straight into!” Sherlock swore, snatching up his coat and throwing it on.

“Where are you going?” Bunnymund shouted.

“To find John!”

“What?! It’s suicide! We need a plan! We need…!”

The door slammed shut. Bunnymund was left alone, staring down at a map that showed the end of their worlds as they knew them at the hands of a mad… turkey.


	10. Chapter 10

“Wait…” Bunnymund wondered, “I thought… he said Tom had been roasted…”

Bunnymund jumped off the table and took off out into the night, hopping past his hidden googies and hurrying down the twisting, dark lanes. He was all for tough and fearless, but Halloween town was just _dark_. He missed his bright and colourful home. The peeps. The eggs. The chocolates. The pastel colours. Here he felt muted and cold.

The entrance to his own home world was easy enough to find, but he knew he couldn’t just hop into it. It was too closely monitored. If he was careful he could slip through, but he had to do it via his enslaved people in Christmas Town. Bunnymund slipped into the tree shaped like a Christmas Tree and quickly hurried through the snow, but as usual his diminished form had him slipping and sliding until he ended up in a drift. Grunting angrily he pulled himself up.

An eddy of snow swirled around him, oddly lifting him to his feet.

“Heh?” He grumbled, looking around himself in confusion.

“Hey,” A tenor voice called, a young man with white hair floating down to settle on the ground in front of him, “I saw you before. You went into Santa’s shop and then didn’t come back out. How did you get out here again little guy?”

“Lil guy?!”

“Awww, with a big voice!” The young man chuckled, reaching down and scratching at Bunnymund’s chin.

“Oooohh, that’s… hey! Stop that! Don’t do that unless you mean it!”

“Unless I mean what?” He laughed, “You must be freezing.”

“I’ve got fur, ya moron. Wait a minute. I remember you. Jack Frost!”

“Heard of me? Not many have. Just Santa and Toothiana…”

“You might remember me from when I was seven feet tall and _angry_ at you!”

“Seven feet… oh damn, you’re Bunny! Ha!” Jack stood up and shook his head in amusement, “What the hell happened to you ole long ears?”

“Listen, Frostbite,” Bunny snarled, “Our worlds are all dying and some mildewy bag-O-bones says _you’re_ the key to saving them!”

“Yeah right,” Jack laughed, scooping Bunny up and stuffing him into the hood of his sweater, “Come on, let’s go check these other worlds out. You came from over there, right? I remember that! Santa took me there once to bring snow to Halloween Town! Is that where you were? Bit far from home, right?”

“Take me back! I have to get home!”

“Is that why you’re small? Because you’re away from home? I like you this size. Let’s go pick on Jack Skellington.”

“He’s long dead, it’s been two centuries,” Bunny growled as Jack slipped into the darker world, “His great grandsons are supposed to be reigning but some bastard named Creepy Crawler’s managed it. Except he’s not really Creepy Crawler. He just picked this place to build up. Probably because Pitch is here and he likes him.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And? _And_? And everything’s ruined! Entire worlds are gone!”

“Gone?” Jack stopped, “I sleep for the summer and whole worlds die? That’s… a bit not good.”

“A bit, no,” Bunny snapped.

Jack stopped and tugged Bunnymund out of his hoodie by a foot, the pooka stared at him upside-down, arms folded and glare firmly established.

“So now what?” Jack asked, “I’ve not felt bad.”

“You cross worlds, apparently,” Bunny snorted, “We were supposed to get more involved who cross worlds. Like the Tooth Fairy and Sand Man and the Man in the Moon… if they even exist.”

“Than why didn’t you?”

“Cupid. Cupid was captured and hanging up a cage like a lure. We thought if we could save him we could use his powers to lure in the others- his way of igniting love and loyalty and all. Except it was a trap and now our strategist and entire bloody _army_ are gone!”

“Santa’s building an army,” Jack chirped cheerfully, “I peered in his workshop a bit ago.”

“No, Candie Cane- AKA Creepy Crawler and Tom Turkeyson- is building them in Santa’s shop. Santa is _missing_.”

“North is missing?” Jack asked, “Why didn’t you say so?”

“The hell do you think I’ve been saying?!” Bunnymund shouted.

Jack shifted Bunny, tucking him against his chest and standing up to look around, “This place isn’t as nice as I thought it would be. Oh, cold snap! You’re probably too cold.”

“Told you. Fur,” Bunny replied, glaring up at him from where he was cradled in his arms, “Are you going to help us or not?”

“Me? What can I do? I just freeze things.”

“And _fly_! Can you get me to Toothiana?”

“I don’t know. Her star is missing…” Jack stared up at the sky.

“So we search and…”

“Yeah, see, it’s kinda not my problem…”

“It will be when snow stops happening because there are _no worlds left!_ ”

“He’s apparently keeping things open in…”

“For now! He’s headed for New Years!”

“Oh?” Jack laughed, “It’s neat there.”

“Neat?” Bunny’s eyes widened, “ _You’ve_ been to… of course you have. Bloody blighter.”

“Um… it’s my home,” Jack chuckled, his tone taunting.

“Can you take me there?” Bunny asked, his eyes wide with hope.

“Not likely,” Jack sighed sadly, “I’ve tried taking people there before. They all die. They freeze over. Only the Yeti’s survive, and they don’t visit anymore. I tricked the doors into sending everyone home.”

“Take me,” Bunny insisted, “I’ll survive.”

“You’re just…”

“Fur, remember? Like the Yetis! Take me!”

“Well…” Jack considered, “Okay. It’s your funeral.”

With that Jack flew up into the air, riding the wind and ignoring Bunny’s terrified screams. He flew straight for the same ring of trees that Bunnymund had gone through, but instead of heading for the Christmas Tree he shot through the box shaped like a cracker.

Cold. Ice cold. Then darkness. And then… _light!_

XXX

Sherlock walked through the door into Valentine land and then stared around himself in horror. What met his eyes was a clear pool, about ankle deep, stretching to all ends of the ‘world’. Everything was in shades of grey. A single tree in the middle of the ‘world’ was all that was left. When he walked towards it the distance stretched and seemed to take forever to cross. It was old and crooked, clearly dead, yet on the opposite side when he walked around it he came face to face with a red cracker.

“New Years,” Sherlock sighed sadly.

There was one in every kingdom, and now it was all that was left. Was this what Crawler was trying to accomplish? What would happen if only these trees were left? Would they reach the new world? Or reset their old? Or would it just lead to death?

 _And where is John?_ Sherlock worried, _Where’s the entire damn army that walked in here a bit over twelve hours ago?_

“Looking for someone?” A cold voice asked.

Sherlock spun to stare at Crawler, his face twisted in rage. The spider-like ghoul was dressed up as a lovebird, his feathers covering the six extra legs that defined him in Halloween Town. Or were those feathers covering other feathers?

“Hello Hearty Warty,” Sherlock purred, “Or would you prefer Tom?”

“Oh, you figured it out!” Crawler laughed, “Tom Turkeyson. Hi! Did you have fun, Sherlock? Figuring me out? I had _such_ fun. Playing dumb. Playing Creepy Crawler. Taunting that deluded brother of yours.”

“Where are they?”

“Your cute little Raggedy Andy and his toy soldiers?” Tom chuckled, slipping out of his disguise to stand before him in all his brown-feathered glory. He was surprisingly handsome for a turkey; his feathers fit close to his body like a fine suit, the tail feathers fanning out behind him like a halo of darkness. Rather than a beak he had a sharp nose and even sharper eyes.

“Yes, John. Where are John and the rest of the army he and the others were leading?”

“No idea,” He laughed, studying his orange and brown painted fingernails, “I reduced this world to what you see right after they had crossed in. They fled through that door when they realized they were both trapped and outnumbered.”

“Trapped?!” Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at the place where the doorway back to his world should have been. It was gone, “Except that the New Years door takes you back to your home world.”

“Does it?” Tom taunted, “Last I checked you were missing a few hundred troops from three different worlds.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, but there was nothing for it. He had only one direction to go, and truthfully he wouldn’t be heading anywhere that didn’t include John. Sherlock strode forward, putting his back to Tom without any indication of the reservation he felt in his stomach, and opened the door. The inside of a hollow tree faced him. He leaned forward as he usually did, waiting for the suction to start, and true to form it pulled him up into the tree with blinding flashes of coloured lights and loud pops and bangs.

XXX

Aster woke with a shiver, staring around himself at the white and pale blue castle that spread above him. He seemed to be lying on a fluff of cold snow, but when he stirred he realized it was someone’s lap.

“Oh!” Jack stared down at him, eyeslashes delicately decorated with small crystals. It took the pooka a moment to realize they were tears.

“You okay mate?” Aster asked, rubbing at his cold nose with one paw.

“I thought you were dead,” Jack replied miserably, “I thought I killed…”

Aster shifted and hurried down to plop himself on the slippery ground. He immediately slid several inches, his ears flattening in concentration before he managed to gain his balance.

“I’m a pooka, the Easter Bunny, E. Aster Bunnymund to you; a master of Tai Chi and all around badass. It’s going to take more than a bit of ice to off me.”

“Still…” Jack worried, “You were really still for a while. Maybe we _should_ go back to your world.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Aster grumped, “So which way?”

“Only way is to fly, but we can go straight there from here. You can go _anywhere_ from here, even into The Emptyness, but I never go there. Here, I’ll take you.”

Aster swallowed his fear and let the Winter Childe pick him up again. Then the strange thing flew up into the air and plummeted towards the frozen lake his castle was apparently built on with horrific speed. Aster screamed in horror and Jack held out his staff. The ice turned to gelatine and they sank through in slow motion. When they came out the other end they were in a grey world, sliding up into a pool of water about ankle deep on Jack.

“Well?” Aster panted, playing tough despite his trembling ears, “You get lost?”

“No… this is it. This is where Easter Island used to be. This _should_ be Peepville. It’s just… gone.”

“Gone?” Aster asked, staring around himself.

“Only my tree is left,” Jack replied, heading over to it and indicating the cracker picture.

“So we can go back, right? To your place? And try again?” Aster asked, fighting down the rising panic in his voice.

“I’m sorry, Bunny. It’s just not here,” Jack replied, holding him tightly in his arms and stroking his ears.”

“My kin. My friends,” Aster whispered, “They’re all gone.”

“We’ll find them,” Jack assured him, “Let’s find Tooth. You said you were looking for her, right? Tooth has a bird’s eye view of all the worlds. She’ll know what’s going on.”

“Her star is dark.”

“We’ll find it. It’s just… hiding… maybe?” Jack offered.

Jack went through his door back to his own world, Aster managing to stay conscious despite the feeling of having air sucked out of his lungs, and then he repeated his stunt of diving into the ice-turned-pudding. This time they appeared in a great, vast darkness.

“Oh wow,” Jack whispered, “This is… weird.”

“What is it?” Aster asked, face buried against Jack’s chest. His fear of heights was challenging his bladder at this point.

“It’s gone. My star is still here, but Tooth’s star is gone. Sandy’s star is dark, too.”

“Who’s Sandy?”

“Sanderson Mansnoozie. The Sand Man to you.”

“He’s real?”

“He was. I’m not so sure anymore. It’s like everything is being devoured.”

Bunnymund forced himself to look down and for the first time he saw the spiralling of the worlds as Jack apparently saw them all the time. On the top of the funnel shape were Holloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. They were virtually untouched, expanding even. Beneath them the rest of the worlds were shrinking down to nothing, spiralling into a black pit that was slowly absorbing the stars as well.

“Where were their stars?” Bunnymund asked, too horrified to feel afraid anymore.

“To the right and left of the moon,” Jack explained, “There.”

“The moon looks different in each world,” Aster noticed, “Is there only one? Or many?”

“Just one,” Jack replied, “The Man in the Moon looks the way you expect him to, except up here. Up here he’s just white and grey.”

“Can we visit him?”

“Not exactly,” Jack replied, “You can talk to him, but he never answers me besides the first time when he told me my name. Maybe he’ll answer you.”

“Just… talk?” Bunny asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay… um… Hi there, MiM… ummm… I’d like to go home… can you point me in the right direction?” Aster tried, feeling rather awkward and wondering if the boy was having him on.

A beam of light shone down from the moon hovering above them. It pointed towards a star. Aster whooped in joy, bouncing in Jack’s arms so that he scrambled to hold him tightly.

“Hey! Stop moving, Cottontail! I don’t want to drop you.”

“He’s pointing to a star! My home isn’t gone it’s just moved! There! Take me there, Snowflake! Go! Go! Go!”

“That isn’t…”

“GO!”

Jack flew towards that star and Bunnymund’s ears wilted back onto his head as the now-familiar ice castle appeared. They flew in through balcony windows and landed softly on the frozen lake.

“I tried to tell you,” Jack said softly. Bunnymund was limp in his arms, “I’m sorry. Are you gonna be okay little guy?”

Jack flew them up to the second level of his castle where a bed of ice was laid out with ratty mattress laid over it and some threadbare blankets. He laid down on his side with Bunnymund snuggled against his belly. The pooka shivered.

“I’m sorry,” Jack sighed, “All I can do is keep you cold.”

“I don’t need warmth. Ah need my home back,” Aster replied miserably letting himself be held.

Jack had nothing to say to that so he just petted the soft ears. Aster was just starting to drift to sleep, exhausted and emotionally drained, when Jack’s hand stilled.

“You’re the last of your kind,” He announced.

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Aster grumbled.

“No, I mean so am I. I’m all alone. No one except you has ever even _survived_ visiting me.”

“So?”

“So now we’re together! I’ll be your family!” Jack sat up eagerly, “I’ve never had a family before.”

“You’ve just… always been alone?” Aster asked, his own agony letting him feel a bit for the strange sprite who had only ever gotten on his nerves before.

“Yeah, but not anymore! _We’re_ together now!” Jack snatched Aster up despite his angry protests, rolled onto his back, and smiled up at him gleefully.

“Put me down, ya larrikin!” Aster howled, not feeling quite _that_ bonded to the brat.

Jack pulled him against his chest and Aster kicked off until he escaped, despite Jack swearing at the clawing his chest and abdomen got.

“What’s your problem?” Jack snapped, rolling over again and glaring at the pooka where he stood at the head of the bed matching his angry stare.

“I’m not some damn cuddly pet!” Aster snarled, “I’m a grown pooka!”

“You look like a…”

“I know what I look like!” Aster snapped, “And I don’t care what you have to say about it! I’ll not be treated like a plaything!”

“Okay, okay,” Jack raised his hands and advanced slowly on the rapidly breathing creature, “I just… I want to make you happy. I don’t want to be alone anymore, and I know you don’t want to _start_ being alone. Trust me on that. So lets just figure this out. What can I do to make you happy?”

“Give me back my life!” Bunnymund raged.

“I can’t. What else? I can stop treating you like a plush toy. Just tell me how to treat you.”

“Like a grown pooka!” Bunnymund snarled, “Something you never did even when I was seven feet tall!”

“Okay. Sure. How do grown pookas get treated?”

“Like grown men!” Aster snarled, “You _do_ know how to treat grown men, yeah? _Kid?!_ ”

Jack chuckled, “I’m innocent, I’ll give you that, but I’m no kid. I’ve been around for centuries. Like Tooth, Sandy, and Manny have. Still, I _think_ I know what you mean.”

Aster cocked his head to one side as Jack slid down onto hands and knees and crawled towards him. Jack lowered himself down onto his belly and Aster’s ears perked up as he recognized the move as submissive. That was comforting, being shown the deference he deserved as the Easter Bunny and the leader (former leader) of the Pookas. He puffed up a bit, preening rather than paying attention to what the strange spirit was doing. That was why he was so surprised when a hand reached out and caressed his most intimate area.

Aster extended himself onto the tips of his toes in surprise, but didn’t jump back; he stared down in surprise at the hand caressing his scrotum and the sheath that contained his little prick.

“You… ah…” Aster stammered, “Exactly how innocent are you?”

“Well… my snow storms make a _lot_ of babies,” Jack chuckled, squirming closer on his belly, “And since most people can’t even see me I’ve watched a few times. But no one can stand my cold touch so this is the first time I’ve gotten more than a bird’s eye view.”

Aster swallowed hard, but the guilt over his innocence didn’t outweigh the need he had for comfort after the horror of losing his people and home. Jack’s wriggling had brought him close enough to lap at his slowly emerging prick with his cold tongue. Aster shivered, one hand grasping the white strands of hair in front of him. His hips began to roll forward into Jack’s cold mouth, the chill not daunting him in his quest for connection with another. His cock was so small now that it was embarrassing, but Jack suckled it eagerly and there was certainly no trouble when Aster moaned and began eagerly fucking his face. When he pried his eyes open he saw the chilly young man gaily kicking his legs as if he was playing a fun game. However, a glance down at his face produced a more serious look of concentration. Aster let himself go with a final sigh, his reservations fleeing with the pleasure pulsing through his body. A few thrusts later and he spilled onto Jack’s rolled tongue with a grunt of relief.

Jack sat up on his knees, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and smiling hopefully, “Better? Did you like that? You’ll stay, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Aster panted, “Yeah sure.”

_It’s not like I have a choice, and I’m not about to love ‘im and leave ‘im._

Jack’s face had lit up, but he hesitated when he put out a hand to pull Aster in close. Aster made the distance, nuzzling up to him, and then reaching for his trousers.

“Time for me to return the favour, eh Frostbite?” He tried for a sensual tone, but felt ridiculous.

“R-really?!” Jack sounded excited and quickly shed his bottoms.

“All off,” Aster growled shoving at his sweater, “I don’t do partial clothes.”

Jack stripped completely and scrambled up on the bed, Aster making it up in one jump. There he happily settled between Jack’s spread legs, smiling up at his anxious but excited lover. He smoothed his hands over the pale thighs, studying the bright blue eyes to make sure there was no fear or hesitance there. Not that he expected it. Maybe once he was large again- if he ever was- there would be a bit of fear. At this point he was just looking forward to being touched for the first time in his life. Aster was determined to make it good for him.

Jack’s head flew back at the first touch to his long, pale shaft. Like all of Jack, where red would have been was a soft blue. So when he blushed he turned cerulean like the head of his pert little cock. Aster smiled and eased his tongue beneath the foreskin, sliding it around to taste his new lover.

“Oh Moon!” Jack gasped, “That’s… wow.”

“Quit jerkin yer hips Snowflake,” Aster grumbled, chasing after the bouncing prick.

“S-sorry,” Jack gasped, gripping the sheets on his bed in his hands tightly.

The light changed and the dim, cold castle lit up like a beacon. Aster blinked in surprised, rubbing at his eyes as the entire area around him became daylight. When he cleared his vision he was staring down at Jack from his proper height. Jack’s eyes were wide and his body was trembling a bit. Lust and longing was still in his eyes but he’d lost a bit of his erection while Aster had been shaking the light out of his eyes.

“Well,” Bunnymund chuckled, “I guess Santa’s plan worked. Now then, let’s get you situated and go find some allies to take out Crawler.”

“What and who?” Jack asked, but dissolved into moans as Aster swallowed him down.

Aster added his hands into the mix, stroking a saliva-slicked digit along his arsehole to make him wriggle and gasp. Aster would have liked to spend some time truly ravaging the young thing, but with him already spent, time not on their side, and Jack new to the touch of others, it was simply not going to last long. A few quick bobs of his head and Jack was coming with a strangled scream, his hands grasping Aster’s ears. Bunny popped off and grinned down at the wrecked young man with a grin.

“Now then,” Aster purred, “My turn to drag you around for a bit.”

XXX

Sherlock stared around himself and shivered in the chill air. His hand slipped into John’s and their eyes met.

“No regrets. Not your fault.”

“If I’d acted sooner…” Sherlock whispered, staring into John’s blue eyes.

“We’d have never met and this might still have happened.”

“Most likely, but still…” Sherlock argued weakly.

“No regrets.”

Sherlock stepped forward, hand sliding along John’s cheek before leaning forward to kiss him softly and slowly. His arms slid around his waist, fingers teasing the rough fabric of the clothes he preferred. When Sherlock leaned back their eyes met with a degree of calm finally found.

“We do this?”

“Yes. It’s the only option left. Crawler wins if we don’t,” Sherlock replied, eyes still not leaving John’s.

“We’ll destroy the world.”

“We’ll stop suffering,” Sherlock stated firmly.

Above them light reached the lonely world that contained an ice castle and the dark room they were in lit up like the sun. To Sherlock’s left was a dais. Around him was their army, cupid passed out in the arms of a Yeti with barely an ounce of fat left on him. They were all frozen. Each and every one still as death. Only Sherlock, Santa, and Padraig seemed unaffected. Sherlock left his one-sided conversation with John’s frozen figure, keeping his lover’s absent voice in his mind. North was shaking with the pain of a wound marring his chest; he wouldn’t survive much longer. Padraig looked defeated for the first time in his life, gone past the point of shivering and leaning towards frozen as well. Sherlock ascended the dais and picked up the staff with the crooked top that almost looked like a shepherd’s staff. There was a crack on the dais that the staff had been resting on. Behind the crack was a darkness with small shimmering lights like stars. A book lay on a second dais across from this one. Sherlock had already read it, but he’d skimmed the familiar parts. The entire of history, including the downfall of the miserable Tom Turkeyson into a madman, was contained therein. Who knew a genius, ignored for appearing to be a stupid turkey, could fall to such madness and destroy all the worlds? Still, there was a solution. Tom sought to destroy all except his own world, but his actions had unexpectedly strengthened Christmas Town and Halloween Town, apparently supported by this fourth world of frost. He had to bring them down by killing their kings. Mycroft was in danger. Creepy Crawler was headed to him now with malicious intent and Sherlock was trapped _here_.

The Book was still being written, the words appearing across the pages as if by magic. As Sherlock raised the staff a voice reached their ears from the stairway leading up into the castle.

“My staff can take out Crawler, I’m sure. The thing is, it won’t restore the other worlds.”

“That’s my gig, Snowflake. Easter is Hope and New Beginnings. It will take a lot of googies, but I’ll make it work.”

“You really think them believing in you did this? Do you think someone could believe in me someday?”

“I know I already do.”

Sherlock raised the staff.

“No!” A voice called, “What are you doing?!”

Sherlock brought the staff down, snapping it across the strange black crack. At the same moment an oddly colourful oblong ball appeared, tossed towards the crack by Bunnymund, no doubt. An egg. A dyed Easter egg. Sherlock smiled at the miserable appropriateness of the whole situation.

Across from the scene of destruction words appeared across the book: _And the world exploded around them_.

XXX

“Did we do the right thing?” Toothiana asked, tears in her eyes, “Letting them play it out? I mean, I get it- free will- but… look what they’ve done! If they’d just worked together…”

A question mark appeared above Sandman’s head, a sad look on his face.

“Now what, MiM?” Tooth asked, staring up at the moon from the sandy shores of the island. Her star had created it when it had crashed down during the Destruction of the Holiday Worlds. Although… implosion was probably more accurate.

“Their memories?” Toothiana asked after a moment, her head turning in consideration, “Yes, I can keep them. But to what aim? Guardians? Oh! I understand! This time we’ll guide them down a _different_ path! I’ll just… play along. I guess this will be easier for you, huh Sandy?”

Sandy smiled and shrugged while Toothiana gathered her fairies close.

“Okay girls,” Tooth cooed to them, “Time to get started. No slacking off just because we only have _one_ world to take care of now! There’s still the same amount of people in it… even if they’ve all forgotten who they were. Now we give them all a New Beginning!”

 

XXX

_Wonder. My center is Wonder, and with it I bring the children of the world joy and light! But first… some cookies. Then I’ll get Aster out of his Warren before he grows roots. What that Pooka needs is a little fun!_

XXX

_My name is Jack Frost. How do I know that? The moon told me so…_

XXX

_Sherlock stood over his microscope, staring down into it for a moment. When he raised his head it was to see a man- army doctor, discharged from someplace hot and sunny, psychosomatic limp- standing beside Mike. He held out his phone and Sherlock felt immediate warmth… but why? And what did it have to do with this blustery fall day that Sherlock felt such connection to?_

XXX

_He’d been alone for as long as he could remember, aware that Pitch had killed off his other Pooka kind but only vaguely remembering. Now he was staring at his frozen Easter and grumbling in frustration. The flighty little brat of a frost sprite took off, flying on the Wind and laughing at his outrage. A faint stirring of desire flitted through Aster, but he tamped it down._

_“Just wait till I get my hands on you!”_

_“You have to catch me first, Cottontail!”_

XXX

_Alone. I’m alone. It isn’t right, me being alone. I had someone once, but now I have no one. Why? Why am I alone? I shall instil fear and darkness all around me until I have my lost one back! All shall fear the name of Pitch Black!_

XXX

 _He is my opposite. I know this. I know not_ how _I know this, but it is in my very being. My center. This war between us shall never end. Always he will be here, and so shall I. The Devil to his Angel. The Dark to his Light. The Spider to his burst of Wind. The Moriarty to his Sherlock._

 

A/N Okay, so in case it wasn’t obvious this ‘sequel’ to Nightmare Before Christmas has also become a ‘prequel’ to Rise of the Guardians and Sherlock _._ Random and something I wasn’t expecting. There will be a sequel. /gasp/


End file.
